


This Wall Of Mine

by shionch, xenobius_rylo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Matt Holt - Freeform, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s), Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 20:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shionch/pseuds/shionch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenobius_rylo/pseuds/xenobius_rylo
Summary: Shiro is a mechanic recovering from a traffic accident; Keith is an awkward gamer who has just moved in next door. The wall between them is very thin, and for his own peace of mind Shiro volunteers to help Keith with soundproofing the apartment. Of course, he doesn't know what he's really getting into...Prompt SoL 25 - Let’s Player AU - from the Sheith Prompt Bang.





	1. Resident Civil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimplelegacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimplelegacy/gifts).



> Now beta-ed by the wonderful dimplelegacy (thank you so much for reviving my love for this fic and this fandom!)
> 
>  

####  ***

“Ahh—!”

It was well past midnight when the shrill high-pitched scream pierced the air.

Shiro was alone inside his apartment, a cuckoo’s egg abandoned in the bird nest of his bed full of blankets and pillows; he was trying, and failing, to get some sleep.

The air was too stiff, the linens too scratchy, the draft from the windows too cold, the blankets too thick and heavy and itchy, and every tick of the old-fashioned alarm clock Shiro kept atop his bedside table was as loud as a slap in the face. There was a dull burning headache blossoming in the back of his head, and his left arm was acting up again as well… Damn that stupid truck driver, and damn his stupid bad luck.

Now, to add to his frustrations, came the onslaught of midnight screaming.

“Fuck, what the— ah! What the hell is wrong with that thing?” the mystery voice yelled, accompanied by erratic gunfire, grunting, and some more ungodly screeching. All the noise, barely muffled by the thin walls of the old building that had been long overdue for a renovation, was coming from the adjacent apartment, apparently. “Why won’t you die already!?”

Well. Either Shiro’s next-door neighbor had discovered a vermin infestation in his apartment and was currently in the process of demolishing the building one bullet hole at a time, or the guy was playing a video game.

Shiro sighed.

The whole neighbor thing was a recent development; the new guy had moved in last weekend — alone, as far as Shiro could tell. Shiro didn’t know much about him, except that it was a lanky young man with dark hair and darker circles under his eyes, possibly a college student, and all his worldly possessions could fit into three cardboard boxes.

Until tonight, the new guy had been the perfect neighbor: clean and quiet, no smoking, no trash bags in the hallway, not even a lively housewarming party — nothing.

The sudden screaming came as a surprise.

Shiro looked at the clock ticking precious moments of the night and his life away. 1:30 AM… Surely it was rude — and possibly illegal — to disturb your neighbors’ sleep at such an hour? Fortunately, Shiro didn’t have to get up early the next day, but there were other people in the building. He knew for certain there was a quarrelsome elderly man living above them, and then there was a couple with a child two doors down the hall. With the walls being as as thin as tissue paper… This was a recipe for a disaster, wasn’t it?

Shiro had to intervene before someone else — not as nice as him — did.

Kicking the blanket aside, Shiro rolled out of bed and got up. The slow burning pain in his forearm was still present; he tried clenching his fist, and it worked for a second. Then — a flash of white-hot pain, and Shiro gasped, almost screaming alongside his new neighbor.

Taking deep breaths as he recovered his balance, Shiro shook his head in annoyance. One day, he was going to make a full recovery, or at least the doctors said so; except, right now, that day seemed a lifetime away.

Cranky and frustrated — with life as a concept, the universe, and himself in particular — Shiro pulled on a pair of sweatpants and didn’t bother with much else. All etiquette flew out of the window the moment the new neighbor started making noises in the middle of the night, Shiro decided. The guilty party would have to excuse the complainer’s condition being somewhat less than pristine.

Shiro straightened up and strode outside, a man with a purpose.

He knocked at the door labeled “4D”.

Just as Shiro was starting to wonder if his neighbor would be able to hear him over the noise, a frustrated growl punctured the cacophony of sounds coming through the door, and finally the silence fell.

The door flew open.

“What?” the noisy neighbor demanded.

Shiro had to step away to avoid the door slamming him in the face; he blinked, taken aback. The guy in front of him… head to toes, he looked exactly like Shiro would picture an inconsiderate zealous gamer, but also… not.

First of all, the guy had an unzipped black hoodie hastily thrown over his shoulders like a cape, the rest of him practically naked aside from plain black boxer briefs and a pair of cute lion-printed red socks.

Second of all, despite his ruffled appearance, the guy was pretty good-looking. His eyes were a striking gray that seemed almost purple in the treacherous artificial light streaming from inside the apartment, his fresh-faced complexion ruined only by a dusty hint of stubble and deep dark shadows indicating a chronic lack of sleep. He smelled faintly of soap and minty toothpaste — fresh and clean, which was a little odd for this time of night, but a pleasant surprise.

Third of all, the mystery neighbor had a knife on a chain around his neck, its gleaming edge pointing right at his heart.

An actual fucking knife. Sharp and everything.

“Oh,” Shiro said. Despite his decent physical shape, he suddenly felt quite self-conscious about being shirtless, vulnerable, exposed to possible stabbing. “Um… hi.”

Their eyes met.

“Hi,” the strange neighbor echoed back, a puzzled expression on his face. “May I help you with anything? Wait— you look familiar. Do I know you?”

Shiro took a breath. He was supposed to be in the right, wasn’t he? Yes, he came here to complain about the noise. The new guy was causing trouble, and Shiro had to deal with it, no matter how sharp his knife… and his cheekbones… were.

“You might have seen me around a couple of times,” Shiro willed himself to sound strict and keep looking his neighbor in the eyes. “I am your neighbor from 4C. My name is Takashi Shirogane.”

“Keith.” The neighbor had the gall to reach out and shake Shiro’s hand. His hands were cold. “Nice to meet you… I suppose. You’ve picked a strange time for an introduction, Mr. Shirogane.”

“I’ve picked…?” Shiro sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Okay. You know what? I was trying to be civil, but you’re absolutely right. It’s well past midnight, and well past the limit of my patience. Keep down the noise, will you?”

Keith frowned.

“The noise?”

“Yes, the noise. Screaming, shouting, cursing, gunfire, and that creepy music and voices — I don’t even want to know what game you’re playing, it’s eerie and it’s loud, and you’re loud. It’s almost two in the morning, people are trying to sleep. Just… stop it.”

“Oh, was I that loud?” The realization dawned on Keith’s face, followed quickly by a flush of embarrassment. At least, Shiro thought it was embarrassment; maybe it was a trick of the light. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Back where I used to live, nobody cared — you could scream at the top of your lungs and nobody would bat an eye.”

“That’s…” Shiro glanced at the knife Keith was wearing. “…nice?”

“Not really.”

Keith shrugged, and his barely-put-on hoodie finally slipped down from his shoulders. Shiro caught it before it could fall and hit the floor; it was a reflex more than a conscious decision. He realized only too late what he was doing: by grabbing the hoodie to hold it in place, he’d grabbed a half-naked stranger by the shoulders.

“Oh, thanks…” Keith remained unperturbed. He smiled as he took the hoodie off Shiro’s hands and put it on properly, shoving his arms into the sleeves; flustered, Shiro could only gawk at him like a socially inept buffoon. “It’s cold in here.”

“Is it?”

“I’m freezing,” Keith nodded. “Maybe it’s the game. Horror games always freak me out. I don’t know why I keep playing them.”

“Maybe it’s the metal blade you wear around your neck that’s sapping all your warmth,” Shiro glanced at the knife again. He could only hope his remark came off as casual. “What’s up with that, anyway? Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“Probably, yes. I dulled the edge, but I guess I can still get impaled if I fall face down.”

“Uh-huh.” Shiro squinted. The edge didn’t look dull to him. “So why do you wear it?”

“It looks cool.”

The urge to roll his eyes at that explanation was strong, but Shiro resisted. If this Keith indeed had a reason to wear a knife, it was entirely possible he wanted to keep that reason private.

“Listen…” Keith shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Takashi, right?”

Shiro winced. He didn’t like the sound of his name: too many people twisted it into an insult and used it against him. He had long since forgiven all the cruel nicknames and moved on, of course; nevertheless, the name left a bad taste in his mouth.

Some good memories hurt more than the bad ones.

“Actually, could you call me Shiro, please? I would appreciate it.”

“Shiro,” Keith repeated. “Listen, I’m sorry for the noise and waking you up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

“Then why did you come over?” The look on Keith’s face was incredulous, with his eyebrows shot up and his voice raised in genuine surprise. He had a nice voice, Shiro noted absentmindedly, with a good vocal range. Must be all the screaming he had exercised. “If I’m not bothering you, what does it matter if I play or not?”

Good question. Now that Keith mentioned it, it did seem rather silly. How could Shiro explain what drove him here? He could no longer justify it even to himself. What, he was in a bad mood and needed an outlet? That’s a shitty motivation.

“Well…” He looked around. The hallway was empty and dim-lit. “This place might not seem much to you, but I’m not the only resident in this building. Just because _ I _ am free tomorrow, doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

“Right,” Keith frowned.

“Right,” Shiro nodded. “So, on behalf of the community, I implore you to be more considerate. Play during daytime, or wear headphones.”

“I can’t find my headset. I must have left it back home when I was moving…” Keith shifted on his feet again. “Besides, playing horror games wearing headphones? No thanks. I’m twenty-one, I don’t want early gray hair. Uh, no offense.”

With an apologetic smile, Keith gestured vaguely in Shiro’s direction.

“You mean, this?” Shiro tugged on his forehead bangs. The loose strand of hair was getting long, long enough for him to curl it over his finger; he should probably trim it soon. “It’s fine. It’s not like I got mine by playing video games.”

Keith blinked, stunned into silence. Bad choice of words, Shiro realized belatedly; instead of lightening the mood, he made it worse.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right. That was inappropriate. I’m sorry,” Keith clutched at the handle of his knife. It was a little too small for his hand, the knife seemingly more of an accessory than a real weapon after all; still, the look of it sent shivers down Shiro’s back. “Too often I speak before I think. I’m… not exactly the social type.”

“So I see.”

In response to that Keith let out a strangled self-deprecating chuckle. Taking pity on the poor guy, Shiro flashed him the kindest smile he could offer.

“Look, just… take a nap,” he said. “You look like you could use some sleep. It’s only a game, right? You can play it tomorrow, no big deal.”

“Actually, it is a big deal!” Keith straightened up, the expression on his face suddenly morose. “I can’t go to bed before I finish recording. See, I have a gaming video channel. My main focus is retro games, but I also do requests. I’m not exactly popular yet, but I do have some patrons. I promised them I’ll do one of the classic Resident Evil games as a monthly reward, but with the move and everything… things have been hectic.”

What was it today, September 28th? No, gotta be the 29th, considering it was past midnight. Pretty close to the end of the month, then.

“If I don’t deliver the reward, my patrons might stop supporting me,” Keith continued. “It’s not much, but it can be the difference between making rent and having to move in with my uncle again.”

“What’s so bad about your uncle?”

“Nothing. I want to make it on my own, that’s all.”

Shiro looked the new neighbor up and down. Keith stood there, illuminated, his silhouette outlined by pale magenta light pouring from behind — something unseen glowing inside his apartment — a beacon against the twilight of the murky hallway. So far, his midnight screaming aside, Keith had been an alright neighbor, and now that they had a problem, Keith didn’t slam the door in Shiro’s face with a hearty “fuck off” like some other sleep-deprived deadline-pressured people could have done; instead, Keith explained the issue in a calm and rational manner. He demonstrated patience and composure — the qualities Shiro always appreciated.

Perhaps, the new guy wasn’t half bad.

“Alright,” Shiro sighed in defeat. “I understand. You have to do the video recording tonight. It’s fine. I’ll grit my teeth and hide my head under the pillow, and I’ll manage. Just don’t make a habit out of it. If you keep burning the midnight oil, your electricity bill is going to make up half of your rent. Not to mention, the other neighbors might start complaining too.”

“No promises.”

There was a hint of a smile on Keith’s lips, so Shiro didn’t roll his eyes as hard as he could have.  _ Cheeky bastard. _

“I should go,” he said as he took a step back. “Good luck with your game.”

“I don’t need luck, I have ammo.”

Shiro froze.

“What?”

“It’s a joke!” at once, Keith raised his hands in the air, as if demonstrating they were empty. “It’s a quote from the Mass Effect trilogy, a— a game reference. You said you should go, and I thought… I didn’t. Think, that is. Again. Sorry.”

The deflated look didn’t suit Keith in the slightest, Shiro decided as he observed him.

“What’s the name of your video channel? Give me the link, and maybe I’ll watch some of your videos,” Shiro smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared, in case you keep recording in the middle of the night.”

“It’s too noisy during the day,” Keith said defensively. Then, to Shiro’s surprise, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and provided a small piece of paper — no, a business card. Instead of a name and a phone number, however, it only had a QR code printed on it. “Here.”

“You have business cards for your channel?”

“Just a few…” the tricky lighting made it difficult to tell, but Shiro could swear Keith was blushing. “It brings me money, so this is a job like any other. I want to take it seriously.”

“Well, then, I seriously want to take it,” Shiro took the card and gave Keith another smile to put him at ease. “Good night, Keith. Or, since it’s so late it’s almost early, good morning.”

“Y-yeah. See you around.”

Keith quickly retreated inside his apartment, before Shiro could change his mind about letting the noisy neighbor off the hook.

Shiro walked back to his own apartment. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he slithered out of his pants and right into the bed. If he could manage to fall asleep before Keith got into the thick of his zombie battle, or whatever that game he was playing was about—

“Oh fuck, I’m out of tapes!”

Too late.

It was going to be one hell of a night, wasn’t it?

####  ***

It was around 7 AM, and Shiro felt fresh as a pickle.

That is, not very fresh at all.

He managed to catch a few hours of sleep after the whole noisy neighbor incident, but it couldn’t have been more than five hours in total. Strangely enough, he felt refreshed enough to function — no sand behind his eyes, no headache; even his troublesome arm, for once, functioned without a complaint.

All Shiro needed was a nice hot shower and a hearty breakfast to feel alive again, and then he could conquer the universe. Figuratively speaking. Literally, conquering the actual universe would be a hassle — it’s one thing to win a single battle, but then he’d have to defend his position, appoint loyal subordinates and manage them, establish supply routes, pay attention to complaints, provide services and watch out for the safety of his subjects… really, dominating even one planet would be a logistics nightmare.

Imagining himself as a stressed out space emperor, Shiro started making breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs, fruit salad, toast, and fresh coffee.

Just when he was done with the food and his favorite 16 oz “I ♥ tea” mug was full of coffee, a doorbell interrupted Shiro’s imaginary retirement speech.

The clock on the wall said 7:50 AM.

Who could possibly visit him at such an hour?

“Um, hi.”

Of course. The moment Shiro opened the door, he saw the guy from last night: Keith, the neighbor from the 4D.

“Does time exist for you, like, at all?” Shiro asked instead of greeting the visitor properly. Still, he couldn’t hold back a genuine face-splitting grin; there was something about that Keith guy, something peculiar and delightful. Shiro couldn’t stay mad at him if he had set the building on fire. Probably. “Good morning. Keith, right?”

“You’re all dressed up,” scrunching his nose, Keith gave Shiro a once-over. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.” Shiro didn’t realize him wearing a plain white tank top and a pair of loose gray pants could be considered ‘all dressed up’, but in comparison to their encounter last night… who knew. At least, this time Keith was wearing his hoodie zipped up, with no knives in sight. That was good. “I’ve been considering going for a run, but it can wait. What’s up? Come on in.”

Shiro took a step back and gestured for Keith to follow inside the apartment. That earned him a smile.

“Thanks.”

As Keith crossed the threshold and walked in, Shiro closed the door. For a moment he felt self-conscious about the state of his apartment — it had been a couple of weeks since he got the time and energy to clean up. The living room wasn't as tidy as he would have preferred. It wasn’t too bad; the white rug in front of the leather sofa might have been a little dustier than it should have been, and the desk in the corner was cluttered with crafting supplies. Nothing criminal, overall, but still…

Shiro guided Keith to the kitchen instead.

“Please, excuse the mess,” he said. “I’ve just finished breakfast. Would you like some coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great,” Keith nodded. He was looking around, his left hand clutching at his right elbow, his posture betraying nervousness. “Mess, huh? You should see my place.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Shiro asked that before he could think over the implications of his question. He didn’t expect Keith to answer in earnest, so he busied himself making coffee.

Keith, however, answered after a momentary hesitation.

“I mean… sure,” he said. “I’ve just moved in, though. My place is not exactly guest-ready. It’s not presentable, it’s barely habitable. I only have my computer desk and one chair.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows playfully.

“And you’ve already made a mess out of that? Gotta be honest, that’s impressive.”

“I guess I have a talent for making messes…”

“Well, I’m rather talented in that area as well, if I do say so myself. You better not make this a competition, neighbor, lest we trash the whole building.”

That got a laugh out of Keith.

Shiro smiled; he was starting to find Keith’s laughter quite pleasant to the ear.

“Sugar, cream?” Shiro asked as the coffee was ready. “Syrup for flavor? I have hazelnut, mint… oh, and cinnamon.”

“Plain black,” Keith said. He didn’t comment on the mug that Shiro handed to him; it was a red mug with an onion painted on it (that one Shiro had made and hand-painted himself a couple years ago, back in college, when he briefly got into crockery).

They sat down at the table. There was a moment of awkward silence as they sipped coffee; Shiro wondered if he should prompt Keith about his reasons for coming over, but he didn’t want to be rude and scare the neighbor off. They would have to live close by for a while, probably, so it’s best not to ruin the fragile peace they had managed to negotiate.

“So…” Keith started after a minute, squirming in his seat a little. “How was your night? I wasn’t too loud, was I?”

“I managed to get some sleep,” Shiro shrugged. “You, on the other hand, look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

That was an obvious lie, but Shiro chose not to say anything. He wasn’t a family member or anything to that strange young man; he bore no responsibility for him and his sleeping schedule.

“Look, I don’t want to cause any trouble, for you or anyone else in this building,” Keith said. He set his coffee mug aside, already empty, and put his hands at the table, open palms up, as if pleading. “Can we figure something out? I need to keep recording. Maybe we could negotiate a schedule or something, a set time when my sessions won’t interfere with your sleep?”

“That might prove difficult,” Shiro got up to put the dirty mugs into the dishwasher. “My job doesn’t let me keep regular hours.”

“What, are you an assassin or something?”

“I wish, at least that would pay well enough to rent a better place than this dump.”

“It’s not that bad,” Keith said dubiously.

Shiro closed the dishwasher. As he straightened up, he got a look out the window; it was a bleak misty morning with a brick wall for a view. Nothing to write home about, but, all things considered, it could have been worse.

It could always be worse.

“Maybe,” Shiro said. “Back to your question, I work part-time at the car repair shop a couple of blocks down the road. Fixing and salvaging small engines, motorcycles and such.”

“That doesn’t sound too erratic.”

“I also have an online costume shop. Clothes and accessories, nothing too intricate, but I can knit a mean scarf.”

Keith raised his eyebrows.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. I know I don’t look like a delicate seamstress or a fashion designer, and, well, that’s because I’m not. I make things like coats, belts, hats, plastic horns… I made Hobbit feet shoes once. It’s a surprisingly popular item.”

“That’s actually cool,” perking up, Keith moved closer. “Do you make video games accessories? Like, I don’t know, a Dovahkiin helmet?”

“Dove-a-what? I don’t play a lot of games,” Shiro smiled apologetically. “If you show me the design, I could probably make it, unless it defies all laws of physics.”

“All laws at once? That would have to be one hell of a helmet.”

They shared a laugh. Keith’s pale complexion flushed with the pink tint of life, and Shiro nodded to himself, pleased with the change.

“Listen,” he said. “Your idea with the schedule… well, even if my work hours were fixed, we would have stumbled into the same issue from last night: we’re not the only two people living in this building. There are better solutions than endless negotiations with every neighboring resident.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the most obvious one is to soundproof your apartment.”

Keith stared at him, bewildered, as if Shiro suggested stealing a space shuttle from NASA or dancing naked under the moonlight in Chernobyl.

“If noise is the issue, it makes sense to isolate the noise and solve the problem at its root,” Shiro said. “I’m sure the landlord won’t mind some minor adjustments, as long as they’re beneficial.”

“Soundproofing doesn’t sound minor,” Keith frowned. “It probably costs a small fortune, and I'm not actually swimming in gold in gold.”

“It’s not  _ that  _ expensive.”

Shiro was bluffing. He had no idea how to soundproof an apartment or how much money it would cost; he knew a little about sound waves and dampening materials, however, and he knew where to get all sorts of crafting supplies for a reasonable price.

“Besides, it’s for everyone’s benefit, not just yours,” he added. “I’ll pitch in. For my own sleeping comfort, if nothing else.”

Keith sighed.

“I’m not sure about this… But, fine. If you think it will let me work in peace, let’s try.”

“Splendid.” Shiro smiled. “Let’s see the place, then.”

“Oh… what, right now?”

“Do you have some other business?”

“No, but don’t you?”

“One of the perks of being self-employed is getting to choose your own hours,” Shiro shrugged. “My job as a mechanic doesn’t need me until Friday, so I’m free.”

“Free as cosmic dust in the solar wind?”

“Is that another game reference?”

“You’re a quick learner,” Keith said with a grin, a blush of amusement apparent on his face. “Okay. Give me a moment to clean up, and come over in, say, fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds good.”

“Good.” Keith echoed and nodded. “See you in fifteen minutes.”

He left, and Shiro rushed to google soundproofing strategies.


	2. Super Keith Boy

####  ***

The inside of Keith’s apartment startled Shiro with its stark austerity. He had been warned beforehand, yet the sight still surprised him.

It was a studio with a small kitchen zone separated from the living area by a screen made of lacquered black wooden planks; there was a thick mattress on the floor instead of a proper bed, one tall red lamp in the corner, and a computer desk with an impressive —  _ excessive  _ — setup. Two displays, a full tower PC with a transparent side showing off its insides — colorful wiring, glowing red lights and whirring computer parts Shiro preferred not to think about; and, of course, there was the main offender — a sound system with several speakers scattered across the room.

With all the gear and devices stacked on top of it, the computer desk looked like an altar to some power-hungry god of technology, while the rest of the apartment faded into bleak nothingness in comparison.

“I assembled it myself,” Keith said when he noticed Shiro staring at that Frankenstein’s monster of a PC. “Intel Core i9, Nvidia GTX 1080 Ti. 64GB of RAM… could be better, I know. I’m considering buying another module or upgrading the video card to an RTX. I might if I have enough savings by the end of the year.”

“Uh… cool,” Shiro said. Judging by the crestfallen look on Keith’s face, it wasn’t the answer Keith wanted to hear, but it was the best Shiro could muster — he didn’t know enough about computers to understand the tech specs. One thing, however, he could relate to as a mechanic, was the pride of showing off something you had worked on with your own hands. “It’s pretty impressive. I can see you put a lot of love in your machine.”

Keith smiled.

“Yes. I think of Red as my friend.”

“Red?” Shiro blinked. “You named your computer Red?”

At once, Keith’s smile turned into a frown.

“It’s mine. I can call it however I want.”

“Whoa, calm down,” Shiro put his hands up. His right hand responded with an unpleasant tingle that often happened when he moved too fast; he ignored it. “I just asked.”

“Everyone ‘just asks’…” Keith sighed. “Nevermind.”

Shiro wondered if he had struck a nerve or if Keith was naturally so defensive; either way, it wasn’t the best start to their enterprise.

“Let’s stick to the matter at hand,” Shiro said. He gestured at the wall behind the computer desk-slash-altar. “This is the wall we need to take care of, right?”

“Right.”

Shiro approached the wall. It was a crude thing of lime and plaster, covered in scratch marks, with a slight fist-shaped dent peeking from behind one of the displays.

There were no knife marks, thankfully.

“Have you ever been here before?” Keith asked suddenly. “Inside this apartment.”

“One time, I think,” Shiro put his hand on the wall, exploring the surface; it felt solid but soft enough to drill screws into. As he knocked on it, the wall resounded with a squeaky crack. Not good. God knows what structural damage these old walls had in them… maybe they should stick to glue rather than screws. “Why do you ask? You don’t think I scratched up your wall, do you?”

There was an awkward pause before Keith asked, “Did you?”

Shiro chuckled.

“No, most certainly not. Adam… the guy who lived here before… well, he kept to himself. I wouldn’t know how these came to be.” Shiro traced the scratch marks with his fingers. His hand didn’t quite fit the pattern — whoever ruined the plaster on this wall had smaller, slimmer hands than Shiro did. “Don’t worry, the panels we’re going to install will hide this mess for good. You won’t even have to paint it over.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You really don’t care, huh?” Shiro took a step away from the wall, letting his hand fall down softly. “Should I sketch whatever I like, then, or do you have any preferences?”

“Regarding the wall?”

Shiro nodded.

“We’ll have to cover the soundproof panels with something, they’re rather… unbecoming, going by the pictures I’ve googled. How do you feel about drapes? No? A bookcase? I think there’s room for a bookcase.”

As he reached for his phone to pull up some examples, Shiro stole a glance at Keith who was standing awkwardly still.

Keith caught his gaze.

“Do what you want. I don’t care what the wall looks like.”

“It’s your apartment,” Shiro frowned. “How can you honestly not care?”

Looking away, Keith shrugged. He seemed bored, or, perhaps, uncomfortable.

Shiro decided to try another approach.

“Have you ever heard of the broken windows theory?” he asked. “It comes from criminology, but it’s more than that. It states that visible signs of disorder, such as broken windows — or, in our case, dilapidated walls — create an environment encouraging more disorder. Basically, if you let one bad thing slide, more bad things follow. So, let’s fix your wall and make your apartment nice and cozy, shall we?”

“I don’t think that’s what that theory is about,” Keith said. Still, he smiled. “Fine. If you want me to get involved… I don’t know. I don’t want anything tacky. Bright colors are not for me.”

Shiro squinted at the red lamp in the corner, then at the flashy computer.

“No bright colors. Got it.”

“No light sources either. When I play, I don’t want any blinding lens flares in my eyes or any other distractions.”

“Sounds like what you want is a solid black wall.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

Shiro looked around once again. The inhospitable look of the dark, empty apartment was depressing. It didn’t feel like home, not even a temporary one; it felt like a storage unit… or a prison cell.

“It’s your place, so it’s your choice,” Shiro said. “Just remember, there’s a fine line between minimalism and austerity.”

“I need to save money for computer upgrades. Gaming is an expensive hobby.”

“Hobby? I thought it was your job.”

“So far the costs outweigh the benefits. I don’t know why I bother,” Keith sighed. “It’s something to do with my time, I guess.”

“Do you have a lot of free time?”

“I graduated from college and got dumped. I have all the time in the world.”

Shiro didn’t know if he should chuckle or wince in sympathy; this new acquaintance had a strange effect on him — somehow even Keith’s gloomy demeanor made Shiro want to smile.

So Shiro smiled.

“Okay. A solid black wall it is.”

“Black wall,” Keith repeated after him, then paused. “Have you ever played any of the Dragon Age games?”

“I’ve told you I’m not much of a gamer,” Shiro shook his head. “Why? Is this another reference I’m not getting?”

“You’ll have to play the games to find out.”

“Will I? Maybe I’ll just watch one of your videos.”

“I didn’t make any for that series.”

“Not to your liking?”

“I’m more of a sci-fi kind of guy,” Keith shrugged. “I have a few Mass Effect videos if you’re interested.”

“I think I’ve heard that title. It’s about some kind of space invasion, right?”

“It’s— well, yes. But it’s more than that. It’s about so many things, and it’s really good. If you have any interest in games, or sci-fi, or space, or human nature — you should play it. I can’t recommend it enough.”

“I do like space,” Shiro paused. “Actually, this gives me an idea. How about we install a black canvas over the acoustic panels, and then on top of that we add some paint splatter for stars? Like, a galaxy or a nebula. We could use a special paint that’s only visible under a black light, so it doesn’t become a distraction unless you want it to be.”

Keith blinked.

“You can do  _ that _ ?”

“Sure. Well, I’ve never tried painting a whole wall, but I’ve done things with ‘magic ink’ before. Grimoires, staves, suits of armor… If I can draw a few dozens of made-up magic runes, I think I can draw a few dots for distant stars.”

“Okay,” Keith smiled. “I like this idea.”

“Great!”

Without thinking, Shiro raised his hand for a high-five — too fast. The troublesome limb sent a flash of pain, sharp and convulsive, up to his arm all the way to the shoulder.

He staggered and dropped his phone, unable to hold still.

“Hey, are you ok?” Keith helped him straighten up. “Take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro pulled away from Keith. As sweet as his concern was, at the moment his supportive touch was doing more harm than good. “It happens sometimes if I move too quickly or abruptly. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious.”

Keith studied him for a moment, and Shiro was certain he was going to ask something. But no, Keith kept silent. He bent down and picked up the phone Shiro had dropped. Fortunately, the sturdy Android appeared unharmed.

“You know your limits better than I do,” Keith said as he handed the phone back to Shiro. “If you say you can do this, I’ll have to take your word for it. If you need my involvement, I’ll try to help, but it’s up to you — I know nothing about soundproofing or interior design.”

“I noticed,” Shiro couldn’t help a little smirk. Maybe it was condescending, but hey, he liked Keith’s self-awareness. “Trust me, I can turn this place into the coziest gaming room you’ve ever been to.”

Keith looked him in the eyes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Shiro offered him a hand, slowly this time; Keith shook it after a moment’s hesitation.

Shiro barely held back another chipper grin.

“When you get the landlord’s permission, you know where to find me.”

####  ***

After they parted ways with Keith, Shiro went about his day, as usual, going for a morning run, showering, and working through his online shop orders; he figured it would take some time for the mysterious neighbor to get a hold of the landlord’s written permission.

To his surprise, around 9 PM, there was a knock at his door.

“Got it,” Keith shoved a piece of paper in Shiro’s hands as soon as he opened the door. “The permission. Sorry it took so long.”

“Ah…” Shiro scanned the paper; oddly enough, it looked legitimate. “You’re pretty fast, actually. Normally it takes a couple of days for the landlord to answer my calls.”

“Really? I didn’t call him. I went to his place, we talked, and he signed the permission as soon as I explained what we’re going to do.”

“Wait. You just dropped at the landlord’s house, without so much as calling him first?”

“Yeah. Why not?” Keith shrugged. “He’s allowed to do it to us.”

Shiro shook his head. Maybe it was best he didn’t ask how exactly Keith acquired this permission. Judging from the lack of police officers arresting Keith for knife mayhem or something, Shiro assumed everything went smooth, civil and legal… more or less.

“Okay,” Shiro took a breath. “I’m going to purchase the materials, then. Do you want to come in and browse some with me?”

“I have to edit the video I’ve recorded,” Keith looked down, his tone apologetic. “Just so you know, it might get loud… and repetitive. Sorry about that.”

“Thanks for the warning, I guess.”

Keith flashed him a smile, still apologetic, but there was a hint of something else as well; something that almost made Shiro’s heart skip a bit.

Shiro cleared his throat.

“Well, uh. Good luck with your video.”

“Thanks,” Keith nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Stop by in the morning, I’ll show you what I’ve found.”

Keith waved him goodbye and left.

Shiro locked the door.

####  ***

Procuring the materials for their endeavor ended up being easier than Shiro had anticipated. He calculated the approximate amount of the acoustic panels they needed, winced a little at the price — oh well, being able to sleep at night in relative peace and quiet was worth it — and ordered the delivery. Three business days, the website promised; not the fastest shipping in the world, but it could have been worse.

As night-time slowly settled in and the outside world grew sleepy and quiet, the noises from Keith’s apartment started again. Tonight, there was less screaming and more eerie music, but it was little consolation to Shiro’s sleeplessness.

Realizing he was unlikely to fall asleep quickly under the circumstances, Shiro put on his headphones and plugged them into his phone. If he couldn’t get any peace and quiet, at least he could see what the fuss was all about, right?

He opened the link to Keith’s channel and clicked on a random video.

“Hello, Red Paladins! In this video, we’ll be talking about RPGs. What makes a game an RPG, and how much of a role-playing experience can it really get? Okay, here’s a controversial opinion for you: I consider The Sims to be more deserving of being called an RPG than any of the Diablo games. There! Now, if you haven’t unsubscribed yet, let’s keep talking. First things first, let’s define what exactly is a role…”

“Hello, Red Paladins! As you may know, I’m a big Star Trek fan, so today we’ll pick up Star Trek: Judgment Rites — the last game where the original series cast appears in its entirety…”

“Hello, Red Paladins! I actually have no excuse for this one — it’s not old, nor particularly influential, nor anything… except that this game is really,  _ really  _ good? I’m talking about Primordia, of course, the masterpiece of poetic vengeance, melancholy fridge horror, and undying odds-defying hope…”

When Shiro finally looked at the clock, he realized: it was 7 AM, and he didn’t catch a wink of sleep.

Cursing under his breath, he stretched with a groan.

“How did this happen…”

Living on his own, Shiro developed a habit of talking to himself occasionally; it never seemed more appropriate than now. What kind of a crazy choice was that, staying up all night to watch some gaming videos? He didn’t choose it consciously, it just crept up on him, like madness.

His head was heavy from the lack of sleep, his spine ached from lying in the same stiff position for several hours, and yet — all he wanted, aside from a steaming mug of coffee, was to click on another video and keep watching Keith theorize about symbolic meanings, rambling about game lore, or just fighting purple monsters.

In fact, the only thing stopping Shiro from doing exactly that was the fact that he watched the entirety of Keith’s videos in one night, and there was nothing left.

That realization was embarrassing.

To avoid the temptation of starting a rewatch, Shiro plugged his phone to charge and got up to make some coffee before he went for a morning run.

####  ***

Around 9 AM, Keith showed up.

“Morning,” dressed in a simple T-shirt and loose pants, he yawned as he crossed the threshold into Shiro’s apartment, and Shiro had to fight down a yawn of his own. “Man, you look tired. Did I keep you up all night again?”

“I wish,” Shiro said.

Keith froze comically still, one foot twisted awkwardly as if he was about to take a step and stopped halfway through. At once, Shiro realized that his sleep-deprived brain messed up his thought-to-speech filter.

“I wish I could blame my insomnia on someone else. Unfortunately, I can’t,” Shiro explained with a forced chuckle. The stiffness in Keith’s posture melted away with a soft ‘oh’. “I made the decision to stay up all night — it’s no one’s fault but my own.”

“Why did you do it?”

For a whole second Shiro contemplated telling Keith the truth.

“I, uh… I have an urgent project to finish, too,” in the end, for some reason that wasn’t clear even to him, Shiro lied. Outright admitting exactly how much he liked Keith’s work felt like a transgression, although Shiro wouldn’t be able to pin down why and what kind. “It’s that time of the year, everyone’s buying Halloween costumes. I’m drowning in orders.”

“Oh,” Keith frowned. “Should I come over some other time? If you’re busy…”

“No, it’s fine!” Shiro assured him quickly. “Come on in. Do you want some coffee?”

Keith grinned.

“Yes. I ran out of coffee yesterday morning and forgot to buy a new package, so… The headache is already starting. You might be saving my life.”

Shiro laughed and gestured for Keith to follow him into the kitchen.

“By the way, my mom’s back in the city,” Keith said when they sat down at the table, each with a steaming mug of fresh coffee. “I’ll stay with her for a few days.”

“I thought you didn’t want to stay with your family?”

“It’s complicated.”

Once again, Shiro didn’t understand the spike of dismay he felt at Keith’s reluctant revelation. There was something wrong with Keith’s explanation, something that urged Shiro to dig deeper, and he had to restrain his curiosity with an iron fist.

He clutched the mug in his hands.

“I suppose it’s a good thing, staying away for a while. The acoustic panels I’ve ordered will be here in a couple of days, and the installation will take some time too.”

“You won’t be doing all that on your own,” Keith said.

Shiro smirked. “Why, you don’t trust me?”

“It’s my apartment, I’m responsible for keeping it in good condition. Besides, don’t you have a bad arm? You’re going to need my help.”

“Relax, it was a joke. Of course, I’ll need your help.”

Keith looked at him, puzzled and completely serious.

Shiro shook his head. What was it about this strange new neighbor that made him so awkward and nervous? Sure, Keith was a good-looking guy with a few odd quirks and a quiet, sneaky sense of humor, but it’s not like he was the hottest guy Shiro had ever seen. Right? He wasn’t even his type. Shiro liked them fit and tan, while Keith was lanky and pale, with messy hair, and chapped lips, and really intense eyes, and… shit, he was staring, wasn’t he?

“Um,” Shiro cleared his throat. “Anyway. How long are you going to stay with your mother?”

“Two or three days, at most. She never stays home for long.”

“She likes to travel, huh?”

“Guess so,” Keith shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what she does or does not like.”

“You two don’t get along?”

“We respect each other,” Keith said, his voice even, calm, and unconcerned. “I have no negative feelings towards her if that’s what you’re asking. There’s no resentment or disagreement on some fundamental matter. We’re just… not that close.”

“I understand,” Shiro nodded. “I’m not close with my family either. My father and I, well, we did have a disagreement. We got past that, but… after certain things, you can never go back.”

Keith frowned.

“At least you  _ have  _ someone to come back to. My father died when I was nine years old.”

“Oh!” Shiro bit his lip. Now, that’s awkward. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, in spite of his previous somber tone, Keith put on a smile.

“Hey, shit happens,” he said. “Nobody can escape their fate. If it’s written in the stars, it can be a wound stretching across multiple universes.”

“How… poetic,” Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that? In multiple universes, I mean.”

“Why not? Everyone believes in something. Might as well be this.”

Shiro studied him for a moment. Keith’s face betrayed none of his inner thoughts, or maybe he didn’t think further about his answer; he sipped coffee from the mug Shiro had provided for him and seemed perfectly content to enjoy the moment without agonizing over the next.

If nothing else, Shiro could admire his composure.

“Well, keep me updated,” Shiro said. “Text me when you return from your mother’s.”

“You can text me when you get the panels, and I’ll come back right away.”

“It’s okay, I can wait. What kind of person would I be if I were to deprive you of the rare family time for the sake of my own comfort?”

Keith gave him an odd look but nodded.

“As you wish.”

He left soon after finishing his coffee.

Strangely enough, the prospect of the next few silent nights brought Shiro no joy and no peace of mind.


	3. Portal 2 U

####  ***

The next two days were uneventful. Despite being away from home, Keith managed to upload the new video on time; naturally, Shiro watched it. It was a short one — a speedrun — with most of the screaming Shiro had the dubious privilege to witness cut out. In fact, aside from the initial introduction and the usual “like and subscribe” speech at the end, Keith barely spoke at all.

To his own surprise, Shiro caught himself beginning to miss the sound of his voice.

Other than that, life went on.

Friday morning, Matt called Shiro in for a shift at the workshop; Shiro’s right arm hadn’t been acting up too much recently, and with the sum he’d spent on the panels for Keith, he could certainly use the extra money, so he accepted the offer.

“You look like shit,” Matt informed Shiro as soon as he showed up. “How’s your arm?”

“Functional,” Shiro said.

“Great! Take a look at that Quarterhorse. Some kid brought it in a couple of hours ago, something about the engine making weird sounds. If we can fix her up quick, we can charge extra.”

It was work as usual. No piles of FUBAR metal scrap full of dents got dragged in, and there were no customer disputes. The day went by relatively quiet.

A couple of customers drove in asking for an oil replacement; Matt handled them. In between dealing with the customers, Matt was working on his Cadillac — a vintage model he’d bought for cheap and rebuilt from the ground up. As he was digging through the entrails of the car, he started chatting about his new girlfriend… Neema, Nina, whatever. Shiro kept his skepticism to himself — Matt was never able to keep a girlfriend for longer than two months — and wished Matt all the best with whats-her-name.

“What about you?” Matt asked, looking up from the engine for a moment. His dirty-blonde hair was messy, and there was a spot of grease at his forehead. “How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro said.

“Fine? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Boring,” Matt rolled his eyes. “Are you still not over—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Man, it’s been — what, five months, six? I get moping around for a couple of weeks, a month, but half a year? It’s a bit too much.”

Shiro sighed, in annoyance more than sadness.

“Look… Matt, you’re a good friend, and I appreciate your concern. But you have to understand, it wasn’t some fling, ok? I was going to propose, for fuck’s sake, I bought the ring and everything. Three years we were together, and then — after the accident, he walked out. Because I was too much for him to deal with, and he didn’t like how I ‘changed’, allegedly, how I wasn’t  _ myself  _ anymore — so, he just walked out.”

Closing his eyes, Shiro paused to take a breath. It was a touchy subject. He didn’t plan to rant, but the words spilled out of his mouth like water from a cracked aquarium, dragging all the seaweed and sludge and helpless trembling nuggets of fish along.

Shiro hated talking about his ex and romance in general.

“I think I’m allowed some ‘moping around’,” he said finally.

“Some,” Matt didn’t bat an eye at Shiro’s outburst. “You can’t wallow in heartbreak forever. You’ll have to get back out there eventually, and I say — the sooner, the better.”

“Of course you’d say that.”

Matt snorted.

“It’s your life, man, I’m not going to force you to install a dating app or whatever. Just think about it, yeah? It’s not like your next break-up can get any uglier than your last one, so you’re not losing anything.”

Unable to hold back, Shiro laughed out loud.

“That’s… such terrible advice,” he stuttered through a fit of nervous laughter. “You’re so bad at this.”

“Got you to smile, didn’t I?”

Shiro just shook his head at Matt’s smug grin, and they went back to work.

####  ***

Finally, on October the 4th all the materials Shiro had ordered arrived. Fluted black panels, light and not too big, but awkward to handle anyway; black canvas for the cover, adhesive, a caulking gun — everything they needed, more or less.

All he needed now was Keith.

It was 4 PM, and Shiro was stuck at home for the rest of the day. There was a couple of crafting orders he needed to finish soon, but his arm was acting up again — too much exertion at the workshop, most likely, but hey — at least he’d fixed that bike on time and got paid extra for a quick job.

He could afford an evening dedicated to himself.

He could also text Keith. Just to check up on him, to make sure he didn’t trip and fall on his sharp unsheathed knife, or something. It would be a pain trying to return those acoustic panels to the seller… and to know there would be no more videos, no more sleepless nights, no more morning coffee in the company of the strange, cheerless mystery of a gamer. That would be a shame.

“Having fun with your family?” Shiro texted Keith.

Keith’s reply came within a minute.

“Tell me you have the panels.”

“Is that a no?” Shiro texted, just to be sure. And, well, to tease Keith a little. Maybe it would cheer him up.

No reply.

“Yes, I’ve got everything we need,” Shiro texted after a few minutes.

“Can we start today?” Keith immediately texted back.

“Tomorrow morning. It has to be done in daylight.”

The answer to that was a string of five ‘weary face’ emojis in a row.

“Expressive,” Shiro texted Keith with a grin. Then, after a short debate with himself, he sent a follow-up message. “Do you want to hang out? I’m having a movie night.”

Keith texted back a univocal “YES” in all caps, no punctuation marks.

Shiro chuckled.

“Come over. I’ll make popcorn.”

Once again, there was no reply, but this time Shiro knew he did the right thing.

####  ***

About 8 PM, Keith showed up at the door. He looked miserable; wet hair, 5 o’clock shadow, and an overall look like he had no more than 10 hours of sleep  _ total  _ in the last five days.

“Rough day?”

“Don’t ask,” Keith winced in response to Shiro’s question. “I told them there was a leaking pipe and I had to leave to deal with the emergency. Not that it matters. She’s leaving early morning anyway.”

“That bad, huh?”

Keith shrugged and didn’t elaborate.

“Do you need a towel?” Shiro gestured at Keith’s messy shag.

“No,” Keith frowned, his cheeks flushed a little. “I’m fine.”

“What happened, anyway? Did you actually break a pipe to make your story more believable?”

Keith blinked.

“What? No. It was raining earlier, and I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“Shit, really? I didn’t notice,” Shiro glanced at the window; it was too dark outside to see much, but the sky appeared overcast, gloomier than Keith’s appearance. “Did you take a shower afterward? Rainwater isn’t good for your hair.”

“I sincerely don’t give a fuck about my hair.”

Taken aback, Shiro stared at his guest.

“Sorry… I’m a little on edge,” Keith slumped slightly as he looked away. “If you don’t want me to drip rainwater all over your couch, I’ll go dry up.”

“I don’t really care about my couch,” Shiro smiled in reassurance. “Come on, sit down. You can pick a movie, and I’ll go make us some snacks.”

“Thanks,” Keith nodded.

Several minutes later, they were sitting in the living room with a bowl of popcorn between them, and the TV played some atrociously cheesy music.

“Is that a rom-com?” Shiro raised his eyebrows. “I thought you’d pick something like, I dunno, Star Wars.”

“We can watch Star Wars,” Keith said immediately.

“No, I want to see where this is going now.”

“I picked it at random.”

That was a lie, Shiro could tell; instead of calling Keith out on it, however, he chose mercy.

“Let’s say it’s fate,” he said.

Keith made a soft uncertain sound, not quite a hum, but somewhat melodic. He seemed content with Shiro’s explanation, and they settled in to watch the movie.

Shiro didn’t notice when Keith started dozing off; he realized it only when Keith’s head — thankfully, dry by now — hit Shiro’s shoulder.

His first instinct was to freeze very still.

“Keith?” he called quietly after a few moments. There was no response. Apparently, the poor guy was so tired, he genuinely passed out.

Shiro sighed. He felt at loss.

“What kind of miracle are you, even…” he breathed out, barely audible, as he ruffled Keith’s hair gently, careful not to wake him too suddenly. “What am I to do with you now?”

Keith mumbled something incomprehensible.

“What?” Shiro asked.

But Keith didn’t say anything else. His breathing was slow and steady, and a bit shallow; Shiro half expected him to start snoring.

The movie was still going, and it was an alright movie; Shiro had been almost interested in the plot — until now. Now, with the cooling tickle of Keith’s breath against his skin, the sensation crawling along the collarbone to the base of his neck, his throat inexplicably tightening, Shiro could barely pay attention to anything.

He shook his head. What a predicament.

Maybe Matt was right. If he was touch-starved enough to freeze up in a perfectly innocent situation like someone leaning on his shoulder, maybe it was time to go on a date before he lost the ability to handle interpersonal interactions altogether.

Mentally vouching to install a dating app as soon as he was done helping his troublesome neighbor with his troublesome wall, Shiro closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe in Keith’s scent; it was faint, but not unpleasant, slightly sour with a hint of laundry detergent, nettle grass, and dust. A perfectly normal smell, notable only due to Shiro sticking his nose into Keith’s hair. Which, come to think of it, was a creepy thing to do — Keith didn’t know what was happening, and he probably wouldn’t like some guy he barely knew smelling him.

Shiro winced. Enough of this nonsense.

“Keith,” he called out, louder this time.

Keith groaned. He rubbed his face against Shiro’s shoulder, all but nuzzling; Shiro’s breath caught in his throat, and he made a small helpless gasp.

For an incredibly long moment, Shiro heard panic drumming in his ears.

Then Keith twitched and bolted upright, the top of his head grazing Shiro’s jaw with an unexpected force and making him see stars.

Shiro yelped in pain.

“Ow, fuck…” Keith rubbed his forehead too. Bleary-eyed, he stared at Shiro in confusion. “What happened? Did I…”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh.” Keith paused to rub his eyes. “Did I miss the ending?”

“Huh?”

“The movie. We were watching a movie, right?”

“Ah, yeah, that.” Shiro glanced at the screen. He didn’t understand what was happening anymore, except that the main couple seemed to have resolved their issues, judging by the enthusiastic hand-holding and incessant smiling. “No, you woke up right in time to see the end. I think.”

Keith nodded.

“Good,” he said. “I like stories with a happy ending.”

“I didn’t peg you for a rom-com lover.”

“I only like a few,” Keith stifled a yawn. “Ugh, I have a headache now…”

“Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’d better go home and get some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow, right?”

“Right,” Shiro said carefully, no disappointment apparent in his voice. “That’s a good idea. You look exhausted.”

“I feel worse.”

Shiro chuckled.

“From your earlier behavior, I thought you’d insist you were fine.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you bring out the worst in me,” Keith flashed him a grin, both sly and sheepish. “I start acting crazy, telling the truth, and inconveniencing people with my feelings.”

“Such madness,” Shiro smirked in response.

“Terrible, really. I should leave before you drive me absolutely crazy.”

“Should you?”

Keith laughed.

“Sorry, man, I’d love to spend more time with you, but I’m so tired it feels like I’m astral projecting right now. I need sleep.”

He stood up. Shiro followed.

They went to the hallway and stopped before the door.

“See you tomorrow around 10 AM?” Shiro prompted.

“Yeah. Wake me up if you have to,” Keith yawned. “Actually, I can give you the key if you want, but I only have one, so… just for tomorrow.”

Shiro shook his head.

“Keep it. Clearly, you need some rest. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Okay,” Keith shrugged. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He left.

Shiro decided to go to sleep early too.

####  ***

“So, how do we start?” Keith asked.

The acoustic panels were stacked neatly in the corner, along with the rest of the materials. The computer table was moved safely to the adjacent wall and covered with plastic. All that was left… was facing the actual wall.

Shiro had googled how to soundproof a room, read the instructions on applying acoustic panels, even watched video tutorials. He knew what he was doing. Mostly. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit nervous.

Made of plaster, faded out to the point that the original color was indiscernible, pale with a maybe reddish tint, the wall stared at Shiro with contempt, scratch marks stretching across it like a whirlwind or a hungry eldritch monstrosity. 

It was almost beautiful.

“We clean it as best as we can, then we glue the panels on,” Shiro said. “It would have been better to add nails or screws, too, but… I’m not entirely sure about its structural integrity. The building is old, who knows what lives inside these walls. I’d rather not open a portal to hell.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Keith said.

“It will be fine,” Shiro promised (with more confidence than he felt inside).

Keith regarded him with suspicion, then shrugged.

“Fine. Show me what to do.”

“Do you have any cleaning supplies?”

“Uh… dish soap?”

“Bring it here. Each of us will need a sponge, and we’ll also need a bucket of water and some towels to protect the floor.”

Fortunately, Keith happened to have everything.

They started cleaning the wall. Keith applied too much soap to his sponge, and bits of the fluffy foam flew everywhere, soaking through his shirt in several spots; Shiro wasn’t spared either, but fortunately, he was wearing a tank top.

It was almost fun, swinging at the wall in a pattern not unlike a dance; except, focused on scrubbing the surface with a fierce determination, Keith had such a serious face, Shiro was growing concerned.

“You don’t have to scrub it so hard,” he said when, after a particularly rapid movement, another drop of foam from Keith’s sponge landed on his elbow. “We’re just cleaning the surface, not peeling the plaster off. Be gentle.”

Keith glanced at him, brows furrowed.

“I’ll try.”

His movements barely slowed down, still impetuous, almost spasmodical.

Shiro sighed. Putting his sponge aside, he covered Keith’s hand with his own. Keith stopped moving at once, his hand oddly still and hot under Shiro’s touch.

“Keith,” Shiro said as gently as he could, “slow down.”

Keith breathed in and out heavily, taking deep breaths. He wouldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes; instead, he stared at the wall, unblinking, as if he didn’t see what was right in front of him.

“Hey. Is something wrong?” Shiro asked.

“No,” Keith said.

His hand clutched the sponge tighter, soapy drips of water reaching even Shiro’s palm.

“If you’re not feeling well, I can do this on my own,” Shiro said.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Keith insisted. “It’s nothing important, just… memories. This wall, and the scratches… and yesterday, my mom… she asks me all kinds of questions, and I don’t know how to tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“Everything. She asks me what I’m going to do after college, I tell her I have a job at the game store, but that’s not really — it’s not what she’s asking about. She knows that I know, but I pretend… I keep hiding behind that excuse, that I’ve got a job and I’m busy — and I am, I’m not lying to her on purpose! I had the flu, then I was busy with the move… and now, I have to fix this wall. But there’s always something, right? Something always needs fixing, and I’m just trying not to fall apart, to stay afloat. They want me to think about the future, and they’re right, but they want me to move back in with uncle Kolivan, or with her to take care of the house… How can I look her in the eyes and tell her I don’t want that?”

“You don’t want to live with your family? That’s the issue?”

“You say it like it’s a small thing.”

Shiro realized he was still holding Keith’s hand against the wall; instead of letting go, he decided to squeeze it a little to comfort Keith. A stream of soapy water dripped down from the sponge.

“It’s your life,” Shiro said. “There’s nothing wrong with living on your own terms.”

“I know,” Keith sighed. “I’m sorry for dumping all my crap onto you.”

“Hey, I asked. It’s important for me to know — after all, I’m already involved in this situation. What am I going to do with all those panels if you suddenly move out?”

“Right. The panels,” Keith let out a short shaky laugh. “That’s what this is all about.”

“Absolutely. What else?”

Keith shook his head.

Satisfied, Shiro finally let go of Keith’s hand and picked up his own sponge. Just as he was about to dip the sponge in the water and wash some of the excessive foam off the wall, Keith touched his shoulder.

“Hey, um, Shiro… thank you. For the panels, and… for listening.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shiro smiled. “I’m doing it for selfish reasons, remember? So I can sleep at night.”

“Unless you get another urgent order for a Halloween costume?”

“What? Oh, right. Well, sales also spike up during the winter holidays. You’d be surprised how many guys figured out their girlfriends want a sword for Valentine’s day.”

“Really? How many?”

“At least two.”

“And you… make swords?”

“Plastic or wooden ones. Didn’t I tell you? I make all sorts of things.”

After an appreciative shoulder clap, Keith moved away, and they resumed washing the wall.

Finally, an hour or so of arduous work later, the wall was more or less clean. Despite their best efforts, most of their clothes soaked through with sweat and soapy water; the towels they’d put on the floor to protect it from the water damage were almost as wet as their clothes.

“I need a long hot shower,” Keith said as he hunched up slightly, shivering, his wet shirt clinging to his skin. “How long until the wall is dry enough to start gluing?”

“A couple of hours?” Shiro shrugged. “I need to change and eat something, then we can keep working. You should clean up the towels before the water they’ve absorbed ruins the floor, and keep track on the wall’s progress. Text me when it’s dry.”

“Actually… I thought we could, um, maybe get lunch together?” Keith looked at Shiro sheepishly, his eyes obscured by his low bangs. “The gluing part, it’s going to take a while, right? And you’re spending so much time and money on this project — the least I can do is to buy you lunch.”

The offer was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“Sure, why not,” Shiro smiled. “Text me when you’re done showering, I’ll get coffee and come over.”

####  ***

Keith’s idea of lunch, apparently, consisted of Chinese takeout, but having seen the state of his kitchen — a tiny fridge and a microwave instead of a stove, barely any cutlery, no table and certainly no chairs to sit on except for the one currently occupied by Keith himself — Shiro didn’t mind the takeout in the least.

“I brought coffee,” Shiro announced as he handed a full paper cup to Keith. “Plain black, as you like it.”

Keith smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

His hair was slightly wet and messy from the shower; he smelled of grass and bitter citrus. He sat on his chair like a cat, crouching, legs bent and feet on the seat instead of the floor; boney and long-limbed, he looked almost like a creature from one of those video games he loved playing that Shiro couldn’t remember the name of.

Shiro took a sip from his own coffee cup.

“What game are you going to play next?” he asked.

“Mass Effect 3,” Keith replied. He looked pleased, contentment rolling off him like heat, as he warmed his hands against the coffee cup, squinting slightly, taking small sips and breathing out quietly. “There’s this mod, Expanded Galaxy. It changes a lot of things, I want to try it out.”

“It’s going to take a while, I assume?”

“A week, maybe.”

“Cool. I hope our little project won’t interfere with your schedule.”

Keith raised his eyebrows.

“Why, how long is it going to take? I thought we’d be done by tomorrow.”

“The gluing part, yes, probably. But we’ll have to test the results and figure out if we need to make any adjustments. And then we’ll have to install the canvas cover for the panels so I could start painting it. So… in total, four or five days, if you want it to look good.”

“I don’t really care about how it looks…” Keith paused, looked up at Shiro, then looked away. “Fine. I could think of worse things to do with my time.”

“Thank you.”

“But, you know, it’s a lot of work. How much did you spend on those things?”

“I told you, it’s just as much to my benefit as it is to yours. Don’t worry about it.”

“Still…”

“Keith, this stuff is like, a hundred bucks for a pack of twelve. It’s not  _ that  _ expensive. I can afford it, okay?”

“Okay,” Keith sighed. “I don’t know anything about construction and repair works.”

“So you told me. Live and learn, right? Now we both know something we haven’t before meeting each other,” Shiro patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. I won’t be going bankrupt over fixing a single wall.”

Keith smiled.

“Okay. Thanks.”

####  ***

When they started gluing on the panels, they began from the far-left corner.

The hardest part was aligning the things neatly; fortunately, considerate of Shiro’s capricious arm, Keith took that part on himself. Shiro used the caulking gun to apply glue to a panel, Keith held the panel against the wall; soon they fell into pace with each other, making the grueling job tolerable, if tiresome.

“Let’s take a break,” Shiro said after a while.

“I thought you’d never ask!” Keith groaned. The last few panels they had been gluing on the wall were the top ones near the ceiling, and Keith had to climb a chair to hold them in place; no wonder he was getting tired.

Keith sat down right on the floor, his legs crossed; after a moment of hesitation, Shiro followed his example.

“We could switch,” Shiro offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Keith said. “I could use a workout, anyway.”

“Work and exercise don’t have to come with frustration and tears. There’s no shame in knowing your limits,” Shiro looked Keith in the eyes. Not that Keith was getting teary, but there was a desperate sort of determination about him; he looked as he was pushing himself, and Shiro didn’t like that. “Patience yields focus. Baby steps, my friend, start small and take joy in your natural progress.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re a spitting image of a Greek statue.”

“Is that… a compliment?” Shiro raised his eyebrows. Keith looked away, saying nothing. “Look, if you really want to get in shape — how about joining me for a morning run one of these days? I could use a partner. People always give me weird looks when they see me running on my own.”

Keith smirked.

“Maybe they’re checking you out.”

“Maybe I don’t want them to,” Shiro rebuked.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Shiro shrugged. “I’m not… I’m not doing it for other people. I just like to run, and I try to keep in shape because it’s good for my health, not because I’m obsessed with looking like the men in magazines, or whatever. I’m not trying to compensate for the scar on my face or the gray in my hair. And that’s all those strangers can see — a big mean ugly guy working out, a thug, up to no good.”

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Keith said.

Flushing, Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. Two compliments in a row? Backhanded as they were, it was nice to hear anyway, if embarrassing.

“Yeah, well…” he chuckled. “You didn’t see me run. My face gets all red, sweaty, and gross.”

“You know what? I think I’ll join you after all,” Keith grinned. “Let’s get sweaty and gross together.”

Shiro laughed. It was a random proposition, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having a workout companion. Maybe someday they could try racing each other or hang out afterward.

Maybe they could be actual friends. It would be nice.

“Ugh, this glue stinks,” Keith said.

Dropping down to earth from his fantasies, Shiro took a sniff at the air. The smell of glue was heavy, fuming with the thick aftertaste of plastic.

“We’re done with the top row,” Shiro said. “I can do the rest. You can take a walk, clear your head. Breathing in too much of this stuff can’t be good for you.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been doing craft work for a while now, I know how to handle it. Call me Guybrushiro Threepwood, for I can hold my breath for ten minutes.”

Keith blinked, then a huge excited smile bloomed on his face.

“What, I had no idea you liked the Monkey Island games too!” he exclaimed, lighting up like a Christmas tree at the reference. “I made gameplay videos for the original four when the remastered version of the first one came out. Which one is your favorite?”

“I like them all,” Shiro said without thinking. All too late he realized Keith meant which game, not which video. “Uh, that is… there are interesting elements in every game. I liked the sailing voodoo spell in the first one, its overall tone, but the second one has a more compelling story. I liked the singing puzzle in the  _ Curse of Monkey Island _ , also recruiting a crew and finally feeling like an actual pirate captain. The banjo duel was fun. And the fourth game… well, it has its moments too.”

“I actually started the series with  _ Escape from Monkey Island _ ,” Keith said, a small wistful smile still on his lips. “I was maybe eleven at the time. I found the CDs — there were two of them — and I had no idea what to do. When I finally solved the catapult puzzle, I was so excited I started screaming, I ran downstairs to tell my uncle… he thought I was having a fit.”

“Huh. I could tell from your video there was something special about that game.”

Keith paused.

“Wait. You actually watched my videos?”

“Of course. I mean, some of them. Since you gave me a card and everything. It would be rude not to check out a few.”

“Oh. So what do you think? Did you like any?”

“I did! Liked and subscribed!” Shiro mimicked a hand-heart followed by a thumbs up. “I’ll probably join your Patreon supporters, too. There’s something about your videos… I can’t put my finger on it, but they’re good. The audio quality could use some work, but what you have to say — you’re actually insightful. You can make the dullest topic in the world sound interesting, and sometimes hilarious.”

As Shiro spoke, Keith started blushing; by the point he finished, even the tips of Keith’s ears turned red.

“Uh, thanks. You know — I think I’ll take that walk, after all.”

He got up to his feet. Shiro saluted him playfully.

“I should be done with the rest of the panels in thirty minutes or so,” he said. “Come back to help me to clean up.”

“Of course,” Keith nodded. He paused, hesitant for a moment; Shiro noticed him swallowing nervously. “Do you want me to, uh, bring you anything? Like… a drink?”

“Coffee? Since you’re out, it might be a good time to replenish supplies.”

“Right. Because I’m out of coffee. Yeah. Okay, yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

Keith turned around to leave. Somehow, Shiro got the sense the drink proposal was not quite what Keith wanted to ask, but as to what was actually on his mind, Shiro had no idea.

He decided to let it go. For now.

####  ***

About 6 PM, all the panels were glued to the wall.

Satisfied with the work, Shiro looked the wall up and down. More dark gray than black, fluted and blocky, it was pretty ugly, but there were no gaps between the panels; everything fit neatly. Even the excessive glue was cleaned up.

Keith stood by Shiro’s side, his nose scrunched up in contemplation.

“We did a good job,” Shiro said, clasping Keith’s shoulder in reassurance. “If you didn’t tell me, I would have never guessed it was your first time gluing stuff to walls.”

“I  _ am  _ a little more familiar with this wall than you are,” Keith smiled, although Shiro didn’t sense any joy in his remark. If anything, his tone was bittersweet. Then again, no wonder; if Shiro lived in an empty apartment, he would speak of its bare walls with the same distaste. “Um, so… what happens now?”

“We should test if our arrangement works as advertised,” Shiro traced the seam between a couple of panels. It was barely visible; if he didn’t know where to look, most likely he wouldn’t have noticed. “It  _ looks  _ alright, but what we really need to know is how much volume these things can handle.”

Keith crossed his arms.

“So what, I pump the bass and you lie back and think of the country?”

“Low-frequency sounds would be a poor choice in our case — they’re hard to mute in close quarters and easy enough to ignore. No, we should go with something high-pitched and annoying, like… maybe a song nobody likes. If I can survive, say, an hour of the same song on repeat, I can probably survive your video recording sessions.”

“I know just the thing.”

Shiro glanced at Keith. The devious glint of those steel-gray eyes promised him no mercy.

“You know, maybe not tonight,” Shiro cleared his throat. “All that glue… The smell is still heavy in the air. It can’t be good for you to sleep here tonight, you’ll definitely get a headache, if not worse.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” Keith frowned. “I can’t wander the streets all night long. And I’m not going back to my mom's house, I’ve had my fill of family time for a month in advance.”

Chewing his lower lip for a moment, Shiro decided there was only one logical plan of action.

“You can stay at my place.”

“What?” Keith opened his eyes wide in surprise. Honestly, it was almost insulting he was that surprised. “Where would I… sleep?”

“I have a spare futon in the closet,” Shiro shrugged. “Look, as much confidence as I have in our work, you really need to air out the place before sleeping here again. And if we’ve done something wrong and the panels start falling off, it’s better they hit the floor than your head. Besides, we could listen for any noises together — that way we can be sure I’m not imagining it or being oversensitive, you know, that I’m not making it up.”

“I never thought you were making it up. I know I can be loud.”

“Well, better safe than sorry, right?”

Keith made a soft humming sound.

“You do make a compelling argument…”

“Is that a yes?” Shiro smiled, and Keith smiled back.

“Yes.”

####  ***

The faint sound of something terribly, awfully familiar crept into Shiro’s apartment. It was a song, but he couldn’t recognize it, and it haunted him.

Keith sat beside him on the bed, hugging a pillow and grinning like a madman.

“You hear it too, right?” Shiro clarified.

“Oh, yeah, I hear it,” Keith said, obviously holding back a giggle. “It’s one of my favorite songs…”

“It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t recognize it,” Shiro sighed. “The worst part is that we can hear it at all. It means the panels alone are not enough. If I have to guess, it’s probably the windows… we’ll have to do something about those.”

“To be fair, it’s the highest volume. I don’t normally play the music that loud.”

“Just as well. We should prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“What  _ is _ the worst-case scenario? Do you want to be able to sleep through someone breaking into my apartment and murdering me as I scream begging for help?”

“What the fuck,” Shiro said.

“All I’m saying, it’s not that loud. It wouldn’t stop me from falling asleep.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Keith shrugged.

“Fine,” Shiro squinted at him. “Tonight, you’re sleeping in my bed. I’ll take the futon. We’ll see in the morning how good of a night you’ll have had.”

“You’re on.”

They shook hands, all serious — too serious. Shiro lost it first and started laughing, and Keith joined in immediately.

“I really… should turn it off…” Keith breathed out finally. “I lied, by the way. I hate that song.”

“I still don’t recognize it,” Shiro said.

“Bless you.”

Keith got up. Shiro was half a mind to lie back and let him do his own thing, but Keith gestured at the window.

“Look. The sun is setting.”

“Yeah?” Shiro got up as well. The view from his window wasn’t all that impressive, but the red-orange sheen that painted the hopeless gray of the surrounding buildings made it better. Not quite beautiful, but… not bad. “Do you like sunsets?”

“Lame, right?” Keith didn’t smile. “It’s such a simple thing. It happens every day. It’s trivial and trite, so commonplace it feels corny to appreciate. But it’s never exactly the same, is it? Every time I look at the sun — I’m a part of something bigger than myself, a part of the world, ever-changing and eternal… the world that’s indifferent to us, yet integral to our lives. If only at that moment, my fears and problems fade away.”

Shiro glanced at him. Keith’s skin bore the same sunset sheen as the world outside; maybe it was the light, or a good night of sleep and a clean-shaven jaw, but the shadows on his face looked softer, the sharp edges smoothed over by the luster of warmth. Even his messy mullet sparkled in the vermillion light of the dying sun.

On a whim, Shiro took Keith’s hand.

“Come with me.”

“What?” Keith blinked. “Where?”

“You’ll see. Trust me, you’re going to like it.”

####  ***

The view from the rooftop was much better than the view from Shiro’s bedroom window.

They got there right on time when the sun was still visible. A metal fence separated the dark bitumen gray monolith of the roof’s surface from the abyss below. The maintenance shed blocked the wind; aerials, satellite dishes, and a lightning rod were sticking out of the roof like a set of metal teeth from a monstrous jaw… or headstones in a graveyard.

Overall, it was mildly exalting.

Keith walked up to the edge of the roof, looked down, then glanced back at Shiro over the shoulder.

“So, you have the key to the roof.”

“I do,” there was no point in denying the obvious. “Don’t tell anyone, please. The landlord doesn’t know I have a copy.”

“We’re not allowed to be here, are we?”

“Just watch the sunset, Keith.”

There was barely a trace of the sun visible at this point; the sky was red, growing purple with every passing second, with only a few specks of golden clouds scattered close to the blocky, uneven horizon.

City lights, white and yellow and orange, were flickering here and there, tiny beacons of humanity in the dark. The twilight of the upcoming night swirled in the narrowest, dim-lit alleyways, a drifting ghost filled with echoes of the day.

“Do you come here often?” Keith asked quietly.

“No,” Shiro said.

“Why did you need the key then?”

“I don’t.”

“So… why did you make a copy?”

Shiro approached the edge, too. He didn’t look down; instead, he stood firmly by Keith’s side and looked straight ahead.

“There was a time when I thought it was what I wanted.”

“What?”

“Freedom,” Shiro made a wide gesture. “It’s tempting to come here and forget… everything that holds you back.”

“Even the good things?”

“Especially the good things.”

Keith was silent for a moment. Then he touched Shiro’s shoulder gently.

“I think I understand.”

“I wish you didn’t,” Shiro said. He meant it. “I wish I could make it so nobody ever felt the way I used to feel back then. I wish… I wish I could make the world better.”

“But you do,” Keith squeezed Shiro’s arm, then lowered his grasp to take Shiro’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “How did you say, patience yields focus? I like that. We can fix the world, one broken wall at a time.”

Shiro smiled.

“That stuck with you, huh?”

“It’s a good motto,” Keith said, unabashed.

They looked at the view some more, the fragile silence full of nothing but distant city noise and their steady breathing. Keith’s hand remained warm in Shiro’s grasp, despite the air growing chilly.

Eventually, the sky grew so dark they would have been able to see the stars if it wasn’t for the ambient pollution of the artificial city lights.

With a sigh, reluctantly, Shiro said, “We should head back.”

“Yeah,” Keith let go of his hand. “Hey… thank you. For showing me this place, and…”

“Don’t thank me for anything I’ve said, please.”

“Okay. Thank you — not for what you’ve said, but for the fact that you’ve chosen to answer me. I asked you a personal question. You could have told me to piss off, but you didn’t. I appreciate that.”

“What kind of company do you keep,” Shiro gave him a puzzled look, “that you expect people to shoot you down on every turn for asking questions?”

Keith shrugged.

“Gamers.”

It was meant to be a joke, judging by the light tone, but Keith didn’t laugh, and Shiro didn’t feel like laughing either.

####  ***

That night, after having leftover lasagna for dinner and playing a few (dozens) rounds of Mortal Kombat 3 — the only cooperative game Shiro had installed on his old laptop — where Keith’s Smoke (predictably) wiped the floor with Shiro’s Kurtis Stryker, they said goodnight to each other and went to separate rooms.

From the living room, Shiro couldn’t hear anything from the bedroom. It was both a blessing and a curse. The futon smelled of dust and provided little to no cushioning; Shiro lied straight on his back and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Maybe Keith was right, and the noise wasn’t the issue.

####  ***

In the morning, Keith looked well-rested and bright like a fresh coin in mint condition.

“I haven’t slept this good in a long time!” he announced when they gathered in the kitchen for morning coffee. There was no smugness in him; if anything, Keith looked genuinely grateful. “Your bed is so comfortable, it’s like being suspended in a zero-G environment.”

“I doubt zero-G is actually comfortable,” Shiro said.

Keith smiled wistfully.

“Maybe not…” his eyes glazed for a moment. “I wish I could find out what real weightlessness feels like. To be nothing for a moment, a fleck of space dust, untethered, completely free… limitless.”

“I would probably throw up,” Shiro chuckled. “But when you put it that way, yeah, I feel the same. It would be an experience of a lifetime.”

“I dreamed about being an astronaut when I was a kid. Mostly because I watched a lot of sci-fi and I loved rollercoasters… and, well, the idea of being tiny and helpless against the silent hostile void was too familiar to be frightening.”

“What?”

“Space. The final frontier,” Keith smiled again, although something subtle changed in his expression. There was a darker edge to his wistfulness this time. “As beautiful as it is, our universe doesn’t forgive mistakes. You have to be everything at once to rival the stars… I’m not made for that life. That’s okay, though. I can still kick ass right here on this bitch of an Earth!”

Keith lightened up by the end of his little speech, and Shiro laughed.

“Watch the language, space cowboy,” he teased.

“Or what, you’ll kick my ass?” Keith teased him right back, just as playful.

“Well, I do exercise every morning. You might be quick and dexterous, but I’m stronger. And I have more stamina than you do.”

Keith sized Shiro up and down with a long gaze.

“We could find out,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh? If you’re suggesting a sparring, I’ll pass. I’m not in a habit of fighting people I like,” Shiro crossed his arms. “If you want to challenge me, it has to be a race. If you’re okay with that, I’m all in — heck, we could go for a run right now.”

“That’s not—” Keith started, then cut himself off in the middle of the sentence and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my competitive side got the best of me. I’d love to, um, go for a run with you… just… not right now. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Shiro nodded.

“Alright, some other time. If you want, I can show you some stretching exercises as a warm-up.”

“Uh,” Keith blushed, probably embarrassed by his perceived unfitness. “I mean… that’s an interesting idea…”

“Keith, there’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Shiro put a hand on his shoulder to make Keith look up and meet his eyes. “Whatever your physical form is, there’s nothing wrong with it, fit or not. If you want to start exercising, I can help you. If you don’t want to, that’s okay too. It’s your body. Never apologize for it.”

Keith held Shiro’s gaze.

“Man, if you heard yourself right now…” he whispered, breathless, then suddenly giggled. “Okay! Let’s start tomorrow. You can show me all the stretching exercises you want.”

Shiro smiled.

“Deal.”


	4. The Stitcher

####  ***

One of the first things Shiro noticed after they’d started spending more time together was that Keith was a  _ terrible  _ cook. A disaster, even. Not because he was bad at it — in fact, the problem was that Keith didn’t cook at all! Apparently, he survived on canned chicken soup and microwaved oatmeal.

One morning after their negotiated run, they decided to have breakfast together. That’s when Shiro saw Keith heating up yesterday’s oatmeal, and he knew things could no longer go on like this.

“Give that to me,” Shiro said as grabbed the bowl out of Keith’s hands. “What is this stuff? It’s all dried up. You can’t possibly be thinking about eating this.”

“Why not?” Keith frowned. “It’s a single day old. There’s no mold or anything.”

Wincing in disgust, Shiro shook his head. The oatmeal was brownish-gray, crusty, and clearly inedible. The very thought of Keith eating that crap made Shiro shudder with a deep, disturbing emotion he couldn’t have described even if he had tried. One word came to mind: bad!

“It’s only sustenance,” Keith insisted. “It doesn’t have to taste good.”

Shiro set the bowl aside, sighed, and confronted Keith by placing both hands on his shoulders.

“Why are you like this?” Shiro asked gently but insistently, barely resisting the urge to shake the offender slightly, looking Keith directly in the eyes. “Your home doesn’t have to look beautiful, your food doesn’t have to taste good… Why are you in a survival mode? Who hurt you?”

Keith blinked.

“I…” he opened his mouth and closed it again. “Nobody.”

“How can you honestly live like this?” Shiro demanded.

With an increasing annoyance, Keith snapped back, “Why does it matter? It’s just food!”

“That’s the thing — it’s not! It’s your food, it’s your apartment, it’s your habit of wearing a sharpened knife directly over your bare skin…” as if Shiro could ever forget that one, oh no. “It’s your habit of not sleeping, then playing video games until you collapse from exhaustion and dehydration. It’s almost like you  _ want  _ your body to malfunction, it’s like you want to… deprive yourself of any and all good things, any sort of physical pleasure, like you’re punishing yourself. Why? Keith. I want to understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Keith pushed Shiro’s hands off his shoulders, a stern look on his face, and took a step back. “You want me to  _ stop. _ You want me to change my habits and  _ behave. _ You don’t want to understand me — you want  _ me  _ to understand that I’m  _ wrong. _ That’s not the same thing.”

Puzzled, Shiro looked at him.

“I don’t care about how things look, or how they taste,” Keith said. “I told you before, it just doesn’t matter to me.”

“So it’s really all the same if you eat microwaved oatmeal or fresh pancakes?” Shiro asked, dumbfounded.

Keith shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean  _ you wouldn’t know _ ?”

“I’ve never had fresh pancakes,” Keith said.

“How are you alive,” Shiro half-whispered, half-sobbed. “Surely your mother or uncle—”

“No.”

“Never? Not once?”

“What do you want me to say?” crossing his arms, Keith sighed in obvious frustration. “I said  _ no  _ already, and I meant it. Mom is hardly ever home, and uncle Kolivan is always busy with the shop. Family meals are simply not a thing in our household.”

“Are you saying… this,” Shiro glanced at the gray mush in the bowl, “is what  _ all  _ your family’s eating habits are like? You all eat microwaved oatmeal for breakfast?"

“Mom likes sandwiches and protein bars. You can eat them on the go, and you don’t have to do the dishes,” Keith paused. “My ex made me toast once, when I stayed the night.”

Shiro groaned.

“That’s it. I’m placing you in the Intensive Care Unit. And by that I mean you’re having breakfast with me — every day, after our run, we’ll be cooking together until you learn how to make a basic healthy meal for yourself.”

Keith laughed for some reason.

“What?” Shiro frowned. “Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“See, I told you this would happen,” Keith explained. “You don’t want to understand me, you want to fix me. Make me  _ normal. _ ”

“I want to keep you  _ alive, _ you dork! Do you take vitamins, or any kind of supplements? Because you’re as pale as a bucket of vanilla ice-cream, and somehow I doubt you receive enough iron from your food. Lifestyle choices aside, I don’t want to find your cold lifeless body after you have a surge of anemia and faint and break your neck, or something.”

For a moment, Keith didn’t say anything. Then, he uttered the most bizarre question.

“Why?”

“ _ Why? _ ” Shiro repeated, so utterly bewildered by Keith’s incomprehensible reaction he thought his head might implode. “How is that even a question? I tell you I don’t want you to die, and the first thing that comes to your mind is asking  _ why, _ just — what kind of experiences do you have that, by default, you assume people want you dead?”

“I don’t assume anything,” Keith huffed a breath, and Shiro noticed a tint of pink adorning his cheeks. So, the mighty Keith wasn’t as aloof and indifferent to everything around him as he tried to present, after all. “I never thought you  _ wanted  _ me dead, but I didn’t think you’d care — one way or another.”

“How can I not?” Shiro asked helplessly. “After… the roof… and everything. You still consider me a stranger?”

He expected Keith to shrug and say something cold again, but Keith didn’t.

Instead, Keith’s shoulders slumped a little as he lowered his face, the long bangs obscuring the delicate blush and the striking gray eyes, admitting defeat.

Still, Keith didn’t say  _ no  _ out loud. And it hurt.

Shiro frowned. He didn’t have the right to get offended, did he? The whole deal with the wall aside, they were at best workout buddies, nothing more. Keith had every right to keep his barriers up. He might have had thanked Shiro for opening up, but that’s all there was — Shiro talking about himself and never listening. Right?

He was doing it again, being selfish, being  _ too much _ . Repeating the same mistake. Clinging to the person who probably wanted to slip out of his grasp.

Still…

How could he let Keith just leave knowing the poor guy had never eaten fresh homemade pancakes, like, ever? In his whole life? Keith ate oatmeal and canned goods, settling for misery and neglect because nobody offered him a choice. That’s… that’s not life!

No, this was different. This time, Shiro had a reason to reach out — a reason beyond his own selfish desires. This time, Shiro was right. Just this once… he was right.

Determined, he looked Keith in the eyes.

“I’m hungry,” Keith said quietly. “Can I have my oatmeal back?”

“Absolutely not,” Shiro stood in front of the bowl, blocking access. “You’re coming with me, right now, and I’m making you pancakes. Tomorrow, I’ll make you an omelette with veggies and bacon, and I will ask which breakfast you like better, so get ready for that. Take notes if you have to, because I won’t accept another  _ ‘I don’t care’ _ for an answer!”

A faint smile crossed Keith’s lips.

“What if I like both options?”

“Then we’ll keep trying to find something you like. We’ll cook breakfast every morning, as many times as it takes until you make up your mind,” Shiro threatened. “Also, I’m making beef curry for dinner tonight. You’re invited.”

“Let me guess — in this case, too, you won’t take no for an answer.”

“Naturally. I won’t back down when it comes to saving your life,” Shiro looked Keith in the eyes. “Intentionally or not, you’re hurting yourself, and I can’t stand to see it. I can’t sit on my hands and do nothing. No matter what issues you’re dealing with, I won’t give up on this matter, and you… Keith, you can’t give up on yourself.”

This time, Keith actually smiled in full.

“You’re more dramatic than my roleplaying friends,” he said. But he took Shiro’s hand and squeezed it slightly in gratitude. “Thanks. Really, I mean it. And… you’re not a stranger. There are just so many things I don’t know how to deal with. Everything you’ve done for me, everything you keep doing… I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know how to react. I hate being indebted to anyone, but with you — it doesn’t feel like selling my soul to the devil. It feels… nice.”

It was an odd comparison. But Keith admitted he considered Shiro something more than a stranger — even though he didn’t specify what exactly, it was still meaningful — and Shiro’s own soul started bubbling with warmth inside of him, so he didn’t mind whatever metaphors Keith liked to use.

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Shiro said gently, unable to hold back a grin. “You don’t owe me anything, so don’t even think about it like that. Okay? It’s not a big deal. I’m looking out for my friend, that’s all.”

“I know,” Keith nodded. “That’s why I accept your help and your friendship. You’re a good person — the kind who helps everyone.”

“Aw, don’t make me blush.”

“What I’m trying to say, you’re not giving me special treatment that you’re going to hold against me later. At least… I hope that’s the case.”

If they didn’t change the topic immediately, Shiro realized, his face would start hurting from all the stupid happy smiling he did. So he latched at the quote that surfaced in his memory after Keith’s little speech.

“Everything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name…”

Apparently, Keith wasn’t too familiar with early 2010s scene music; not a shadow of recognition flashed in his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow and stared at Shiro in silence.

“It’s a joke,” Shiro said. “A quote from—”

“Oh, right, that song.” Fortunately, Keith remembered after all. “Sorry, I don’t really listen to lyrics. I usually pick instrumental music for my videos.”

Shiro was struck by a horrific suspicion. If Keith didn’t care about his own physical comfort, could it be… he didn’t care for  _ any  _ pleasures at all, including pleasant sounds?

“Don’t tell me you only listen to music when you need something for a video!”

“Actually, no. I just happen to like instrumental music,” Keith smirked, and Shiro breathed out in relief. At least there were some things Keith liked. “It conveys emotions in a primal manner, forgoing words, which makes it more powerful.”

“Words, like violence, break the silence?” Shiro teased.

“Words are meaningless and forgettable,” Keith replied, a sly expression on his face. This song he recognized right away, which was good — they had something in common after all. “Yes, I know, the irony of remembering this particular lyric word for word isn’t lost on me, except — the song itself is an oxymoron, calling for silence while its very existence contradicts its message. Can we debate all of that later, though? I’m still hungry, and since you won’t let me eat the oatmeal, I might have to resort to cannibalism.”

Some inexplicable compulsion prompted Shiro to ask, “Oh yeah? Which body part would you choose?”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“An arm, probably,” he answered a moment later, with a light pat on Shiro’s bicep. “Looks beefy.”

Feeling his face light up with embarrassment, Shiro cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah, well… I guess we should hurry with those pancakes.”

####  ***

Upon Shiro’s insistence, they threw the oatmeal in the trash and changed location to his kitchen — unlike Keith, who lived like a tech junkie or a computer-worshipping monk, Shiro had everything they needed to make a delicious breakfast.

As promised, Shiro showed Keith his every move. Keith watched intently, brows furrowed, and said nothing.

Finally, a plate of pancakes topped with butter and syrup was placed on the table.

“See, this is a proper breakfast,” Shiro said. “Nothing complicated, but it tastes much better than oatmeal.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Keith said.

“Fifteen minutes, at most.”

“Five times as long as microwaving oatmeal takes, plus,” Keith nodded at the frying pan, “it produces twice the amount of dirty dishes, which also take time to clean.”

“Fine, twenty minutes. It’s worth the extra effort,” Shiro grabbed a fork and handed it to Keith. “Now, sit down and eat.”

Keith sat down at the table; he might have rolled his eyes, or Shiro might have imagined it.

Then Keith started eating, and his slightly annoyed expression melted away in favor of surprise, then stifled appreciation with a hint of forced dignity. In other words, he blushed furiously, wolfing down the food while keeping his back very straight and avoiding looking Shiro in the eyes.

Shiro smirked.

“Pretty good, huh?”

“It’s alright,” Keith mumbled, meticulously stuffing his face with syrupy goodness.

“You’re impossible,” Shiro laughed. “Alright, you win this one, but fair warning: I’m not giving up. I’ll get a smile out of you yet.”

“A smile, that’s all? Here you go. Anytime.”

Following his words, Keith flashed Shiro the brightest, happiest smile Shiro had ever seen — on Keith or anyone else. It was absolutely ridiculous in its beauty, delighted and delightful, imperfect in that cordial way that confirmed sincerity. Witnessing that smile felt like peeking out of a dark room into the bright light of a summer day, like catching fire — blinding, overwhelming.

Shiro’s breath hitched, and his heart skipped a bit.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

“What?” Keith asked, his mouth snapping shut and his face contorting into a frown, like a frightened animal jumping away from a carelessly outstretched hand. “Sorry, is it my teeth? I know they’re a bit too sharp and it looks freaky. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“Would you stop apologizing,” Shiro covered his face with a palm, and sighed. “Your teeth are fine, really, they’re perfect. You… well, you have a wonderful smile.”

“Huh. Really? Thanks, I guess. My parents paid a lot of money to fix it.”

“Oh. Congratulations?”

“Mm.”

Shiro didn’t know what else to say to make the conversation less awkward, so instead of running off the mouth, he picked up the dirty frying pan and went to do the dishes.

####  ***

They ended up spending the whole day together. It was unprompted and unplanned but ended up fun. Keith asked what project Shiro was currently working on, and Shiro showed him the half-finished Starfleet uniform, specifically the shirt — sky-blue, like the original Star Trek ones.

“It’s almost ready,” he explained. “I only have to stitch on the science badge embroidery.”

“You… embroider.”

“I have many skills.”

Afterward they played Mortal Kombat 3 again. Shiro stubbornly picked Kurtis Stryker, and once again Keith obliterated him, using Scorpio this time.

“Why do you even pick that guy?” Keith asked after the third round. “He’s boring, he’s ugly, he doesn’t even do anything, and he only appears in a few games in the whole series. What do you like about him?”

“Is there any answer I can give that you’ll find satisfying?”

Keith paused in contemplation.

“Probably not,” he admitted in the end. “I hate him, and I’m going to hate him. Even if you bring up that he’s a plain mortal man in a world gone mad, that it takes a lot of courage for an ordinary no-name nobody to fight gods, demons, and soulless cyborgs, while armed with nothing but a rubber stick and a gun… his moral code, his sense of humor — whatever it is, I don’t get it. Because I don’t want to. Because there are other, more interesting characters, and they deserve to be given a chance much more than  _ Kurtis fucking Stryker _ .”

“This really gets to you,” Shiro looked him up and down, concerned. “Why? Is there something I should know?”

With a short little laugh (adorable), Keith shook his head.

“No, that about sums it up… thanks for letting me vent. Another round?”

Shiro grabbed the game controller from the table.

“You’re on!”

This time Shiro chose Liu Kang. And he won.

####  ***

Keith agreed to stay for dinner.

“That’s a lot of bottles,” he commented when Shiro started taking out various spices from the cabinet in preparation. “And… isn’t it a bit early to start cooking?”

“Beef takes a long time to prepare,” Shiro said, “even in a pressure cooker.”

Seemingly unconvinced, Keith touched the lid of one the spice bottles, fidgeting with it.

“You know, one of my friends likes cooking, too. Although, he’s more of a baker. He always posts pictures of his buns and stuff. You two would probably get along.”

Shiro almost dropped a box of bay leaves he was holding.

“Excuse me?”

“Huh?” Keith blinked in perfect innocence.

Just to clarify his initial thought was a mistake and that Keith wasn’t, in fact, spitting out innuendos, Shiro asked, “Are you trying to set me up with your friend?”

Keith paled.

“What— no, Hunk’s from Florida, and he has a girlfriend! Why would you… I wouldn’t— I thought you already had, uh, someone?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Clutching the spice bottle in his hand to the point his knuckles turned white, Keith opened his mouth and closed it again.

“I… the landlord?” he uttered a moment later. “He said, um, when I went to get that paper… uh, the permission. We talked, a little, with the landlord. I asked him about you. And, um… No, wait, I didn’t ask. He said — he asked me if the neighbors were giving me any trouble, you know, because of the wall… the nature of my request. Yes! That’s right. He asked me if the couple next door was too noisy, he said that the previous tenant complained about the noise too. Yes, that’s what the landlord said… I just assumed he meant you.”

Still pale and wide-eyed, Keith looked everywhere but Shiro, his frantic gaze wandering the room.

“I see,” Shiro put down the bay leaves box at the table next to rest of the spices. “It’s okay if you asked around, you know. I’m not mad. I understand the reluctance — letting a stranger in, knowing they’re going to poke around your  _ sanctum sanctorum. _ There’s nothing wrong with doing a small background check.”

Keith looked Shiro in the eyes.

“Did you ask around about me?”

“Well, it’s not like I can just walk door to door asking people about the new guy,” Shiro chuckled. “Your knife-wielding habits aside, you seem alright. Anything else, anything important — I figure you would tell me if there’s something I should know.”

Looking away, Keith nodded.

“See, everything’s fine,” Shiro smiled again. “As for what the landlord told you… yes, I had a boyfriend back when Adam lived here, in your apartment, but it was months ago. We broke up. I’ve been on my own for some time.”

“Oh.”

“Wait, that’s not the part that you’re nervous about? That I’m gay?” Shiro frowned. “I saw your  _ Mass Effect _ videos, so I assumed…”

“Ah, no, not at all!” Keith gasped, so desperately pallid by now Shiro was starting to worry the poor guy might actually faint. “I mean, yes, it’s totally fine. Actually, my ex was a guy too. I don’t mind it at all.”

“Oh, so you’re bisexual?”

“I…” Keith paused. “Honestly, I don’t know what I am. I used to think I wasn’t interested in men  _ or  _ women, but then I met this guy in college, and… it just happened.”

Shiro smiled.

“Yeah, it happens.”

“I wish it didn’t. I wish I didn’t get attached to someone who saw me as  _ transitional _ , as… as a plaything. He moved on. And I don’t know what to do with myself, I don’t know who I am anymore. All I have are these memories… how happy I was. Things weren’t always good, but he made me happy. I don’t know why it wasn’t enough for him, why… I wasn’t enough.”

“That happens, too,” Shiro put a hand on Keith shoulder. “You’ll be okay. We all will, eventually. As for now, we just have to be enough for ourselves.”

Looking up, Keith gave him a shadow of a smile in response.

“I’ll try,” he promised.

Shiro nodded in satisfaction.

“Good. Now, help me with the curry, and I’ll make sure you stay awake long enough to appreciate the taste of a proper homemade meal.”

“It’s going to take  _ that  _ long?”

“The longer we bicker, the longer it’ll be before we get to eat. I’ve got the roux mix ready — now we need to cut the meat and the vegetables.”

Keith smirked.

“I can do that. I’m good with knives.”

“I sure hope so. I’m trusting you with the meat while I prepare the vegetables.”

“Yes, sir!”

With a playful salute, Keith sent Shiro another smile before setting off to work as instructed.

####  ***

Everything was ready within a couple of hours, which was extremely fortunate because the lights went out at 8:58 PM precisely.

No warning, no strange sounds, no bad weather outside; one moment Shiro and Keith were in the kitchen, shoveling rice and curry onto the plates to sit down and eat, and then the next moment they were in the darkness.

Keith swore out loud.

“Yeah,” Shiro agreed. “Looks like the fuse is blown. Again. There’s a guy on our floor, he has a water heater that can fry the whole system… It’ll be fine, they should fix it within an hour.”

“I’ve never seen it happen before.”

“How long have you been here, a week? It’s not like that happens often. Slav… he has issues, but he’s not the kind of person to do it on purpose. He was probably in a hurry, or left the thing on accidentally.”

“Are you sure it’s that Slav guy, and not something more… sinister?”

“I pay my bills on time, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I mean, the building is old. What if there’s been a power surge, and something short-circuited? Shouldn’t we investigate?”

Shiro sighed.

“Okay. If you insist, I’ll take a look. There’s a flashlight in the drawer next to the sink, and some candles. Sit tight while I’m gone.”

Keith fetched the flashlight and handed it to Shiro.

“Good luck. I hope it’s nothing major.”

####  ***

Of course, it was Slav, the local fuzzy-haired menace.

“Hey, neighbor,” Shiro shone a flashlight at the tall gangly figure hunched next to the electrical panel board. Yeah, it was Slav, alright; wrapped in nothing but a towel, wearing flip-flops and rubber gloves, he was trying to fix the fuse while balancing a flashlight of his own in his mouth. “The water heater acting up again?”

Slav flinched and almost swallowed his flashlight.

“Ahem… yes,” he recovered quickly. “Do you mind? Disturbing me during my work will result in a roughly 85% efficiency loss. Discarding the minuscule variables.”

His round glasses glinted in the treacherous light; darkness shielded Slav’s eyes, with nothing but Shiro’s own reflections, like ghosts, staring back at him.

“Okay,” Shiro glanced at the electric panel. There didn’t seem to be any visible damage. “Do you need any help? I could hold the flashlight for you…”

“No!” Slav shook his head furiously, reminding Shiro of a distressed bird. “I work faster on my own. Too many things to keep track of otherwise. Too many chances something goes wrong!”

“Right. So, how fast will it take this time? Half an hour?”

“Give or take. Of course, it’s an optimistic estimate. If something goes wrong, and there’s always at least a 5% chance it does, this panel can start a fire that consumes the whole building.”

“Maybe we should call an electrician?”

“No! Introducing new variables into the equation only serves to increase the complexity!”

Classic Slav.

“Just… get it done and working again,” Shiro said, making a mental note to call the electrician tomorrow. “I don’t want to have to unfreeze my entire fridge.”

Slav put his flashlight back into his mouth, returning to work, and made a non-commital noise, unintelligible due to the obstruction.

Shiro walked away.

####  ***

Back in his apartment, Shiro entered the kitchen.

While he was gone, Keith managed to light up the candles and set the table; the bubble of shimmering orange glow produced by the candlelight was engulfing the room, shaky shadows dancing in the corners.

Keith waited patiently in his seat; he hadn’t touched his food.

“As I suspected, it was Slav,” Shiro said as he put the flashlight back into its designated drawer. “Don’t worry, he’s fixing it. The light will be on in about half an hour.”

“If it’s just a blown fuse, shouldn’t he be done with replacing it already? It takes, like, five minutes to change.”

“Tell that to Slav. Or, better yet, don’t. He’s obsessive and prideful like you wouldn’t believe. I offered to help him on multiple occasions, and every single time he advised me to get lost. Trust me, it’s much less of a hassle to wait and let him do his thing.”

“Well, that is unacceptable,” frowning, Keith crossed his arms. “What if I was recording? I could have lost all my progress!”

Shiro raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you have a USP or something?”

“I didn’t think I’d need one! All I have is a stabilizer, it lasts maybe fifteen seconds,” Keith chewed on his lip. “I think I know what my next purchase is going to be.”

“Well, I think I need a drink.”

Shiro opened the fridge — fortunately, he didn’t keep much in terms of frozen food, and the rest should be fine for half an hour, so there was no need to rescue anything for now — and he took a bottle out. It was cheap red wine, only half-full because they’d used it earlier making the curry; cooking was pretty much the only thing Shiro normally used alcohol for.

He took the cork out and sniffed the wine. A little sour, perhaps, but not too revolting.

“Do you want some?” he asked, showing the bottle to Keith. “Wait — you’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be twenty-two in November,” Keith huffed. “I can handle a glass of wine.”

“Great.”

Shiro poured two glasses of wine and discarded the empty bottle.

Finally, they both sat down to eat. The food was getting cold already, but Shiro liked how it turned out nonetheless. The rich flavorful taste of beef curry reminded him of home; back when he was a child, Japanese curry rice was Shiro’s favorite dish, and he still had a soft spot for it to this very day, almost in any variation.

He swallowed another spoonful, smiling at the sentimental turn of his thoughts.

“It… burns,” Keith heaved suddenly. “What is this… concoction…”

“What? What is it?” Shiro was up on his feet in less than a second, right next to Keith. “Did you burn your tongue? It’s not that hot, but…”

“It’s full of acid and it tastes like poison!” Keith coughed and groaned, his eyes glistening with tears. “What is this?”

“Oh, honey… that’s seasoning,” Shiro quickly poured a glass of water. “Here, drink up. I didn’t realize you’re completely unfamiliar with spicy food. This is supposed to be mild, but if you survive on oatmeal and chicken broth… I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

Chugging water, Keith made a weird face, a sort of confused little frown; he paused mid-drink, then set the glass aside.

“I order pizza sometimes,” he said and licked his lips. “Still, I’ve never had anything like this. You know, once it’s watered down, it’s not so bad. It’s weird, and it makes my throat itch, and I don’t understand half of what you mixed into it…”

“Oh, god, you’re not allergic, are you?”

Shiro cupped Keith’s face and leaned in to examine him up close. At first, aside from the watery glint in his eyes, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him, but then signs of discomfort started appearing at an alarming speed — Keith’s cheeks turned bright red and his breathing grew notably faster, he even parted his lips to suck in a breath through his mouth.

“Holy shit, you are allergic,” Shiro gasped. “What do we do? Do you have an EpiPen?”

“I’m fine,” Keith insisted, but even his voice came out as a whisper.

Hands shaking, Shiro let go of him.

“You are very obviously  _ not  _ fine! Should I call an ambulance? Has this ever happened before?”

“Shiro, please… if I was choking to death, I would have already choked.” Keith rolled his eyes. The red tint seemed to start fading from his face, although the tricky candlelight made it difficult to discern. “It’s just a natural reaction to, uh… hot stuff. I mean, food, hot spicy food. That’s all.”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Shiro shook his head with a sigh. “First the lights, and now this… it’s like we’re cursed.”

“Do you believe in curses?”

“Everyone believes in something. That’s what you say, isn’t it? Might as well be this,” Shiro sat down. He couldn’t even look at the curry on his plate anymore, so he grabbed the wine glass. “It was careless of me to invite you over for dinner unprepared.”

“Come on, you can’t prepare for everything.”

Keith reached out across the table and put his hand on Shiro’s forearm. It lasted only a moment — the table was too long to keep the position — but it was a nice gesture. Shiro’s hands stopped trembling under Keith’s comforting touch, and he smiled at Keith in response.

“And I like this, seriously, I mean it,” Keith added, pointing at his plate. “It might take me a bit to get used to it, but I never back down from a challenge.”

“It’s not supposed to be a challenge,” Shiro said quietly. “It’s supposed to be nice.”

“It is nice!” Keith exclaimed. He immediately proceeded to grab a spoon and shovel spoonfuls of curry into his mouth. His eyes started watering again, but he grinned through the tears with his mouth full. “Shee! I’m sho enshoying shis!”

“You are literally crying…”

“I love crying!” Keith swallowed the enormous amount of curry, made a weird choking sound, and stubbornly puffed out his chest. “I love crying and eating spicy food.”

“Keith, this is ridiculous. You don’t have to put yourself through something you don’t like.”

“I like this!”

“Keith, please…”

“I like this, and I will finish my plate, and I will eat the entire pot if I have to prove it to you,” Keith scowled menacingly and renewed his rapid curry-devouring efforts.

“Okay! No need to prove anything, I believe you!” Shiro remembered the glass of wine in his hand. Maybe there was another way to distract Keith from this insanity. “Let’s make a toast. To celebrate, uh, our wall-mending efforts and… discovering… new worlds, new life-forms, and new civilizations.”

Fortunately, Shiro’s hasty ploy worked. Keith set the plate aside and raised his wine glass, a face-splitting grin on his face.

“To boldly go where no one has gone before?”

“That’s right,” Shiro nodded. “To Kirking and Spocking throughout the universe.”

They clinked glasses. Shiro took a small sip, glancing at Keith who, once again, turned red like a cocktail cherry.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Shiro asked, just in case.

“Yes!” Keith downed the entire glass of wine in one gulp. “The curry is delicious. I’m very full. It’s a very filling meal.”

“I’ll do better next time,” Shiro promised. “No more exotic spices.”

“I told you, I’m okay. I don’t have any food allergies.”

“How would you know?”

“Fine, I don’t know about ‘any’, but I’m not allergic to this meal. I didn’t expect it to get so intense, that’s all.” Keith paused. “Wait, did you say… next time?”

Shiro smirked.

“Of course. You didn’t think one failure was enough to stop me, did you?”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Keith held Shiro’s gaze, a slow reciprocal smirk spreading on his lips; his eyes, dark and deep, cosmic with the ever-shifting reflections of dancing candle flames, looked positively magnetic. “I take you for a man who keeps his promises.”

“Good, this is exactly how I like to be taken.”

Before either of them could say anything else, out of the blue, the ceiling lights flashed and stayed on. An array of beeps from various appliances signaling the restoration of power played a cacophony of sounds; the fridge hummed furiously, cooling; the stove flashed red, demanding to correct the lost time.

Blinking from the blinding return of electricity, Shiro rubbed his eyes.

“Looks like that Slav guy is done with his… repairs,” Keith said quietly.

“Yeah,” Shiro nodded. “Good timing. I’d hate to do all these dishes by hand.”

“I could do that for you.”

“No need, the dishwasher can handle it. Besides, you’re my guest, I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

“I don’t see us working together as a burden,” Keith looked Shiro in the eyes again. “In fact, I think we make a pretty good team… like Kirk and Spock.”

“Oh, sure. Keith and Shiro, defending the order of the universe by cleaning and making household repairs!” Shiro laughed, then shook his head. “Listen, before this gets out of hand, I have to come clean — I’ve never actually seen Star Trek.”

Keith’s mouth gaped open.

“What? But you make Starfleet uniforms as costumes!”

“It doesn’t take a genius to google some pictures,” Shiro shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about giving it a chance, but it’s like getting into comics — there are so many materials, you don’t know where to start.”

“I’ll show you,” Keith moved closer. “It’s on Netflix. We can watch it together.”

“Netflix and chill?” Shiro chuckled. “Sure, why not.”

He got up to blow out the now-useless candles, then started cleaning out the table. Keith stared at him for a few moments, silent, then got up to help.

“I have a work shift tomorrow, so I should go get some sleep,” he said as he handed Shiro the glasses to put in the dishwasher. “How about this weekend? Are you free?”

“Let me get back to you on that. I still have to finish those costumes, and Matt might call me in.”

“Who’s Matt?”

“His family owns the workshop I work at. I used to work full-time, but since the accident… for now, it’s too much strain. I will recover eventually, and some moderate exercise is beneficial for the recovery, so they call me in sometimes.”

“Oh, so he’s your colleague.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Shiro shrugged. “He’s more than some random guy I am forced to share the workspace with. I care about him. He’s my friend. We went to highschool together.”

“I see,” Keith looked away. “Well… when you have the time, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Anytime.”

####  ***

Friday morning, Matt called Shiro in for a shift. Shiro accepted the offer — why not? The costume orders had been finished, his arm didn’t bother him, and — after splurging on the acoustic panels for Keith — he could use the extra money.

Things were quiet. There weren’t any customers; Matt worked on his personal project to restore a vintage Cadillac — he’d found the car broken and abandoned a few years ago and had been trying to rebuild the whole thing piece by piece ever since then — while Shiro sorted the inventory in the back of the shop.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Matt commented during the lunch break. “What happened?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing. What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been smiling all morning,” Matt shrugged. “I haven’t seen you smile like that since… well, you know.”

“Like what? I smile all the time.”

“Not like  _ that _ .”

“You’re projecting,” Shiro frowned. “You’re happy, so you think everyone else is. Can we skip the whole teenage girls' gossip routine? I can’t fathom why you are so interested in my dating life.”

“Whoa, hold on. There’s a lot to unpack there.”

“Don’t start…”

“First of all, if Katie heard you dissing teenage girls—”

“I know, I know. Your sister would call me a misogynist and kick my ass,” Shiro winced. For a 16-year-old, Katie Holt could throw a mean punch and, overall, was a force not to be trifled with. “Spare me the lecture, please.”

“Second of all, which of us is projecting?” Matt grinned triumphantly. “I was going to ask if you bought a new bike or something. You’re the one who started talking about dating.”

To that, Shiro had no answer.

“Seriously, man, what’s going on?” Matt took a step closer. “You’re my friend, and I’m glad you seem to be doing better, but… some articles say a sudden change in behavior could be a warning sign. I want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Shiro said. “And my behavior hasn’t changed that much. Recently, I’ve been working out more, getting better sleep, and my arm doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. Of course I’m in a good mood.”

“So, it’s just physical?”

“You say that like it’s a small thing.”

“I guess not. Well… it’s good that you’re good. All that running is finally paying off, huh?”

“Yeah. I actually found a workout companion. We do a short run every morning, it’s refreshing.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. Matt’s face lit up like a light bulb.

“Oh! Do tell. What kind of a workout companion?”

“It’s only my neighbor. Some college kid, just graduated, a gamer.” It felt utterly wrong to reduce Keith to a set of those shallow characteristics, but what else could Shiro do? Tell Matt about the roof, the stupid curry and wine, and candlelight, about Keith’s expressive steel gray eyes, his stubborn scowl and the smell of his nettle grass shampoo? No, Matt would definitely get the wrong idea. “I helped him fix the wall in his apartment. We go for a morning run and eat breakfast together.”

“Every day? And today, too?”

“Yes, of course. Maintaining the regimen is important.”

“Mhm… I see.”

“It’s not like that, Matt. He’s not my type. He doesn’t even like guys, well, aside from the one he dated in college, but they broke up. I don’t think he’s looking for a relationship right now.”

“So you’ve already asked him if he’s single.”

“I didn’t ask!”

The shit-eating grin on Matt’s face left no room for doubts — he didn’t believe Shiro for a second.

“Maybe you should ask,” he said. “Because I have never  _ ever  _ in my life met a college graduate who likes to run every morning. He should be compensating for years of study nights and morning classes, but instead, he chooses to get up at 6 AM? Please. That guy is obviously madly in lust with you.”

“This is ridiculous.” His collar suddenly too tight, Shiro fixed his shirt and cleared his throat. “I refuse to discuss it any further.”

“Exactly, this  _ is  _ ridiculous! Go talk to your ‘workout companion’ and ask him out,  _ then  _ we’ll have something to discuss. Other than your constant self-sabotaging efforts, that is.”

“How about we focus on our work? Please? For once? That car of yours won’t fix itself.”

“Your love life won’t fix itself either,” Matt shook his head in disapproval. “But, fine. Changing dirty oil is more fun than talking romance with you, anyway.”

On that, Shiro could more or less agree with him.

####  ***

Over the weekend, in between watching Star Trek and dreaming up their own wild space adventures, Shiro and Keith managed to install a canvas over the soundproofed wall, and then add the black light lamps to start the galaxy painting. Shiro also presented Keith with a blanket, a simple black-and-red striped thing, declaring it a late housewarming gift. Keith seemed to like it; he used it to cover his mattress right away.

All in all, Keith’s apartment was beginning to look like a home.


	5. Dark Howls

####  ***

Days went by. As autumn descended into its later stages, the weather grew increasingly wet, foggy, and bleak; as if some invisible cosmic wheel slowed down its momentum, and a heatless death followed the dormancy, freezing every creature with its chilly breath, making them sluggish and limp.

Waking up in the morning was a struggle. Every other day started with heavy rain; instead of jogging every morning, Shiro had to switch to three days a week at best.

If it wasn’t for their breakfasts with Keith, he would have probably stayed in bed until noon.

Their cooking lessons did some good. Keith was an ardent learner; he hardly ever divulged into any creative experiments, following recipes to the letter, but it was a start on the road to perfection. The swell of pride Shiro felt when Keith had presented him with a plate of hot blueberry pancakes was nothing short of delightful.

The galaxy painting Shiro had planned for Keith’s wall was progressing slowly. He finished the basic sketch in a day, but then came the next stage — drawing the details, all the gradients made out of tiny dots, the cosmic swirl, star clusters, and individual stars; it was a painstaking job, made worse — or better — by Keith’s nearby presence, which proved to be a distraction Shiro couldn’t ignore.

Keith was… amazing.

He made Shiro laugh. His antics ranged from playing weird video games in front of Shiro (an “insult simulator”, was it?), to silly childhood stories (that one time Keith got suspended for fist-fighting three older students over “fire safety regulations” — specifically, them smoking on a stairwell and him kicking their asses), to outright pestering Shiro with questions.

“If you could be a celestial body, what would you choose?” he asked once.

“You don’t think my body is celestial enough?” Shiro flexed. Keith made a wry face, and Shiro laughed. “Okay, okay… you mean, like a star, right? I don’t know. A black hole, maybe?”

“Why?”

“I like the color.”

“No, you don’t,” Keith scoffed. “I’ve never seen you wear black, not even once.”

“But I’m wearing black right now. You just can’t see it.”

Keith blushed.

“Oh.”

“Socks, I mean socks!” Shiro explained hurriedly, realizing too late what Keith might have imagined. Then, curious, he asked, “Why, what kind of a celestial body would you picture me as?”

A sly grin spread on Keith’s lips.

“I’m torn between an asteroid and a quasar. Don’t ask me to explain,” Keith looked away. “Nevermind, it’s a stupid question.”

“No, no, I like it. What would you choose for yourself?”

“What?”

“You know, what kind of celestial body would you like to be?”

Keith — he was sitting on his mattress near the other wall — shifted awkwardly and plopped down on his side, propping his head up with an elbow, staring at Shiro, glass-eyed in contemplation, like he had to actually think about his answer.

“I don’t know,” Keith said finally.

“Really? I thought you’d make up your mind before asking me. Well, if you don’t know… how about a red dwarf?”

“Tiny, dull, and cold?”

“Cold, yes! It’s the coolest star! Get it?” Shiro smiled. “Also, it’s the most stable kind of star, with the longest lifespan.”

“Yeah, definitely not me.”

They shared a laugh.

“I’d like to be a planet,” Keith decided finally. “Preferably, the kind that supports life. Not necessarily human, any kind of life.”

“Odd. You don’t strike me as the nurturing kind. If anything, I’d peg you for a star in the center of a system, its leader.”

“Me, a leader? I can barely organize a group of six in an online game.”

“But you  _ can  _ organize a group of six,” Shiro insisted. He took a step towards Keith, and Keith sat up, facing him. “Your videos have already gathered a small following, and it will keep growing. Admit it or not, there is something within you, Keith, something that attracts people. You’re impatient and headstrong, but you’re also passionate and persuasive when you want to be. You’re charismatic, you have a radiant personality, you stand out in a crowd — in a good way. You are the kind of person I would follow in a heartbeat.”

“Enough, Shiro, please,” Keith begged, a little breathless, his cheeks aflame. “If you keep lavishing me with praise, I am going to combust.”

“Alright, alright!” Shiro grinned. “We’ll work on your compliment-accepting skills later.”

“Don’t make promises you have no intentions of keeping…”

“I have every intention of keeping that one.”

Keith shook his head, the look on his face sheepish but amused.

It was a nice day, that one.

####  ***

And then, suddenly, it was October 31st. Halloween. Shiro barely noticed that a whole month flew by; workshop, online orders, and Keith had been keeping him busy.

They jogged together every morning they could, from their building to the nearby park, a circle there amongst the trees, and then — all the way back.

The first week of exercise was… taxing. Keith was a fast runner but he lacked stamina; the first time they went for a run, Keith almost fainted from dehydration — Shiro even had to manhandle him a little to help Keith drink from his water bottle, since Keith didn’t have the foresight to bring his own.

The second week was better. Keith was a fast learner, too.

The third week, they raced each other — it was actually Keith who’d suggested it — for the prize of a banana split ice-cream. Keith won. Shiro was all too happy to lose if it meant they could spend the afternoon together, for once not having to cook a meal but going to a diner and cozying up in a corner by the window with a delicious dessert.

It was nice.

####  ***

The morning of October 31st, Shiro texted Keith he wanted a day off — all the costumes preparations and shipping the orders off to the eager customers was taking a toll on him. He didn’t have any strength or desire to celebrate, so he was planning on spending the day in bed, relaxing and doing nothing productive.

After their breakfast, of course. There was no way Shiro would miss out on that.

Keith showed up late, past 10 AM, a little disheveled.

“I think I have a cold,” he said.

“May I?” Shiro reached out to feel Keith’s forehead. It was dry and slightly hotter than normal. “Yeah, you have a fever. You should probably lie down and rest.”

“Probably.”

“After breakfast. We can’t skip the most important meal of the day.”

“Of course not.” Keith smiled. “It’s too bad I’m sick. My friends and I have been talking about throwing a party, guess that’s not happening.”

“Not unless you want to share the flu with everyone you know.”

“Okay. This flu is only for you.”

Shiro laughed.

They made pancakes for breakfast. Shiro stirred the raw ingredients into a batter, while Keith was on the frying duty; when the pancakes were ready, Shiro raided his fridge for honey, raspberry jam, and kiwi fruits.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Shiro said as he peeled a kiwi. “These things have more vitamin C in them than oranges do.”

“That’s not a secret,” Keith said.

“Maybe not.” Shiro diced the kiwi quickly and dropped kiwi cubes on a plate. “This, however, is my family’s secret recipe of a common cold remedy.”

He poured honey over the kiwi cubes and then added the raspberry jam.

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it too much sugar for one meal?”

“Just right. Also, it’s a topping, not a separate meal… a sweet salsa dip, if you will. Now, eat up before the pancakes go cold.”

They each grabbed a plate of pancakes topped with butter and honeyed kiwi ‘salsa’, and started eating.

“This is so sweet,” Keith said.

“I know,” Shiro grinned. “It’s an acquired taste. I actually hated it as a kid.”

“No, I mean…” Keith sighed. “Thank you for the meal, Shiro.”

“Oh. Don’t mention it.”

They ate in silence for a minute.

“So…” Keith spoke first. “What are your plans for tonight?”

Shiro shrugged.

“Didn’t I tell you earlier? I’m taking the day for myself. You know, to rest. I’ll probably take a long bath, watch some knitting tutorials, maybe get some sleep… I feel like I’ve made about a thousand Halloween costumes and accessories these last couple of weeks. I could use a break.”

“Ah.”

They sat on the bench in Shiro’s kitchen, side to side. Keith dragged the remains of his food across the plate, casting lingering glances at Shiro, as if he wanted to ask something else, but was reluctant to say it.

“Why, do you need my help with something?” Shiro prompted.

“Actually…” Keith paused, licked his lips. “Since we can’t have a party, how about a gaming night? I’ll hit up my friends, they’re probably down for an Overwatch match… or a dozen. Allura wants to win that one Halloween exclusive skin.”

“If you feel you’re up for it, I don’t see why not. The soundproofing we’ve installed works, more or less, so it’s not like you’re going to disturb my rest.”

“Yes… well, actually, I was wondering…”

“It’s fine, Keith, really. I mean it. I don’t mind. Worst case scenario, I’ll have to wear headphones or something. Unless you want to play, I dunno, death metal? In that case, I don’t really want to, but I could ask for a night shift at the workshop…”

“Ask Matt?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m surprised you remember,” Shiro smiled. “You’re perceptive.”

“In comparison to some other people, perhaps,” Keith rolled his eyes for some reason. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any death metal. I won’t be recording, just playing.”

“So all the shouting is going to be live and in real time? Got it.”

Keith shook his head.

“You’re right, it’s a bad idea with a sore throat. Another time, then.”

“Keith,” Shiro sighed and put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “If you want to play with your friends, go ahead and play. You don’t need my permission. I’m just your old cranky neighbor, not your jailkeeper.”

“It wasn’t  _ permission _ that I wanted,” Keith said mysteriously. “And, come on, you’re only four years older than I am. That’s nothing.”

“Nothing? I already have gray hair…”

“It looks good on you.”

Reaching out, Keith brushed Shiro’s bangs aside; for a moment, his feverishly hot hand rested on Shiro’s forehead, then slid lower, caressing the side of his face.

Shiro’s heart skipped a beat, then started thumping with renewed vigor.

Suddenly it was very apparent how little space separated them; facing each other, they were almost nose to nose on the kitchen bench, close enough that Shiro felt rather than saw Keith swallowing a lump in his throat, his breath hitching for a moment. Shiro’s own breath betrayed him, and he sucked in a breath through his mouth.

For the love of everything that’s good and holy… he wanted to kiss him.

Shiro blinked, the sudden realization bright and clear in his mind, stark like a lightning strike. He wanted to kiss Keith. All this time… he had been flirting with Keith, and Keith flirted back.

How the hell was he just realizing it?

No, this was too much.

“We have to clean up!” Shiro blurted out, panicked. Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the temptation of leaning in, he moved away from Keith and stood up; only then he dared to open his eyes again. “Are you finished?”

“What?” Keith frowned. He too moved away a couple of inches, as if the very proximity to the spot Shiro had left vacant was distracting or unpleasant somehow, burning, then he blinked at his half-eaten plate of pancakes. “Oh. Right. Yes… I’m not really hungry.”

Shiro started cleaning the table. Keith stared at him in silence for a few moments, his brows still furrowed. There was something akin to hesitation in his eyes, but Shiro was too busy trying to avoid his own racing thoughts to ask any questions.

Then Keith called him.

“Hey… Shiro.”

Shiro froze in front of the dishwashing machine, a dirty plate in his hands.

“Yes?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No,” he threw the plate in the washer and turned around to face Keith again. “What are you talking about?”

Keith shrugged.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Shiro said. “It’s just… I have my own demons to wrestle with. I think… I’m starting to realize something, and I’m not sure how to… proceed.”

“Tell me what it is,” Keith looked him in the eyes. “Maybe I can help.”

Swallowing the nervous laughter, Shiro shook his head.

“No. I wish I could tell you, but… it’s a puzzle I have to solve on my own, I’m afraid.”

Keith held his gaze for another moment, then nodded.

“Okay.”

With that, Keith got up and started helping Shiro clean the table.

The whole process didn’t take long, even though it didn’t transpire without an incident: a mug slipped out of Shiro’s hands when Keith stepped closer; fortunately, Keith caught the mug — the ever dextrous — and smiled as he handed it back to Shiro who couldn’t help smiling back despite all the doubts gnawing at his insides. Being with Keith felt too good not to smile.

Finally, the cleaning was dealt with.

Keith stood by the window when he suddenly said, “Pancakes.”

“What?” Shiro asked, confused.

“Pancakes,” Keith repeated. “Remember? Back when we started all this, you said you were going to make me cook and eat breakfast with you until I’d make up my mind what breakfast food I liked the most. Well… I think I’ve made up my mind. It’s definitely pancakes.”

Shiro froze where he stood, near the trash compactor.

“Oh. I see.”

There was a beat; a moment of silence. Another moment of panic when Shiro didn’t know if he should ask if it meant Keith wanted to quit their jogging-and-breakfast agreement or to stop seeing Shiro entirely.

“But you never told me yours,” Keith said quietly, and Shiro let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “It’s unfair, isn’t it? You know more about me than I do about you. So tell me, Shiro… Do  _ you  _ have a favorite breakfast food? Because it’s okay if you don’t know yet. I can wait. We can keep doing this… breakfast thing… if you want to figure things out. Not as a teacher and a student anymore, but — as friends.”

“I…” Shiro licked his lips. “Yes, I do. I mean, I want to.”

Keith smiled.

“Okay. Remember, as many breakfasts as it takes.”

“Okay… friends, huh? I can live with that.”

He really could, Shiro told himself, even though the mountain of uneasiness on his shoulders remained steadfast and heavy. But it was a comforting weight, a familiar one; unsettling, but not as terrifying as losing ground under his feet.

It’s the thought of losing Keith entirely that was terrifying.

They parted after breakfast. On Shiro’s insistence, Keith took some Tylenol and promised to get some rest.

Strange, but Shiro’s apartment felt empty without Keith present.

####  ***

Left to his own devices, Shiro did his best to follow the plan and relax; he treated himself to a nice bubble bath, and for a whole of thirty minutes it worked to take his mind off Keith — only for the thoughts to return in a sudden and entirely inappropriate manner when he realized his hand found its way to a certain method of quick stress relief.

He quickly switched to a cold shower, annoyed at his treacherous body.

There was no way to avoid it anymore though, was it? He, Takashi Shirogane, the biggest idiot to ever grace the Earth with his insufferable presence, had a crush on his neighbor. His handsome, determined, talented, insightful, delightful, seriously amazing and amazingly serious neighbor.

Keith…

Shiro would go as far as call it infatuation. Yes, he was infatuated; what else those intense visceral feelings could be? He was touch-starved and lonely, and Keith just happened to be nearby, beautiful and welcoming — in his own hot-and-cold prickly manner — and unafraid, a challenger to the universe, ready to scream and fight to his last breath. Of course Shiro fell for that — how could he not? Anyone would find a man like Keith attractive.

It was to be expected, yet it totally caught Shiro unawares.

It’s not like he never thought about Keith that way. He liked guys, after all, and Keith was a guy — of course Shiro checked him out. But it wasn’t like that, was it? Not just because Keith looked like a scrawny college kid with an overgrowth of wild hair and a pair of wilder eyes; those weren’t flaws — in fact, Keith was a man so beautiful Shiro might have been too intimidated by his devilishly good looks to start a conversation with him, had met under different circumstances.

Now… they had met and grown somewhat close over the course of the last couple of months; Keith offered Shiro his friendship — cordially, patiently, and unabashedly.

Could it be enough?

Dating so close to home was a terrible idea. Neither of them could really afford to move out, not in the nearest future, so if their relationship soured, things would get awkward. Two months could never be enough time to learn everything about another human being, and Keith especially was full of surprises, not to mention Shiro had his own skeletons in the closet. Meeting the family, for example, would be… yeah, it would suck. Putting Keith under Mr. Shirogane’s scrutiny? Shiro could barely handle it himself on the best days, and subjecting Keith to that nonsense would be a tremendous dick move. Explaining why Shiro didn’t get along with his father, though, would have been even worse.

Just… the possibility of romance raised so many questions. What if it ends?  _ What if it doesn’t? _ The prospect of happiness was as intoxicating in magnitude (albeit a polar opposite in the emotional plane) as the looming threat of losing everything if Keith one day decided to walk away.

For all his thinking, Shiro couldn’t find a way out of that mental maze.

####  ***

A sudden noise startled Shiro awake. It was a loud sound, like a knock, but it didn’t come from the door; it came from the window.

Blinking, Shiro rubbed his eyes. He must have dozed off on the couch while checking out a knitting magazine… it was already dark outside, and raining again. Was that the source of the startling sound? Did something fall off the roof?

He stretched with a yawn, getting up from the couch.

Immediately, there was another knock, more insistent this time; now there was no doubt about it — someone was knocking on Shiro’s window glass.

He lived on the 4th floor.

“The hell?” Shiro muttered, approaching the window cautiously. Maybe it was an unlucky bird that had lost its way in the rainstorm, hit the glass and broke a wing, or a stray cat—

It was Keith.

“Holy shit,” Shiro swore as he grabbed the lift handle and flew the window open. “Keith, what the— get in here! Now!”

Keith reached out and dived into the open window hands-first; Shiro grabbed his wrists for security, helping to drag Keith inside. Fortunately, the window was big enough for a person to fit through. Less fortunately, the two of them lost balance and ungraciously tumbled to the floor, a tangled mess of limbs. It wasn’t the pain of the impact, however, that Shiro felt first — it was how wet and ice-cold Keith’s skin felt.

Yes, skin, because — apparently — Keith figured it was a great idea to climb a window parapet during a rainstorm, wearing nothing but an unzipped hoodie and some underwear.

Shiro groaned.

“What… what were you thinking?” he asked, untangling himself to sit up. “What’s going on? Are you out of your mind? It’s a long way down. What if you slipped?”

Keith had the audacity to smile.

“But I didn’t.”

“You’re insane,” Shiro smacked his own forehead, the panic at the danger barely avoided catching up to him. He started shaking because of the cold wind and raindrops from the window, and also because of Keith. “You’re actually insane. What the… what the hell, Keith? You could have fallen. You could have died!”

“But I didn’t,” Keith repeated.

“You never do until you do, and then it’s too late! You… humpty-dumpty. How— no, listen, I don’t even care. Just promise me you’ll never do it again. Why— what were you even doing?”

Keith shrugged. “You weren’t answering my text.”

“I was asleep!” Shiro shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me. Please, just… stop trying to get yourself killed.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” Keith stood up. His hair and hoodie were wet from the rain, and drops of water dripped heavily on the floor. “I need your help.”

“Okay, whatever you need, I’ll help. But first things first, you have to get out of that hoodie before you catch pneumonia. You already have a cold, we don’t want it to get worse.”

Undressing at his command, Keith dropped the hoodie to the floor. It piled there ungracefully, like only a pile of wet laundry could. Keith sniffled and shivered when his wet hair hit his shoulders, but he didn’t say a thing.

“You’re unbelievable,” Shiro grabbed the hoodie from the floor, and finally got up to his feet as well. “I’m going to put this in the dryer, and you… take a towel from the bathroom, then go to the kitchen and make us some tea. I’ll bring you a pair of warm socks.”

Whether it was his tone or the gravity of the situation, for once Keith accepted the orders without arguing.

####  ***

When Shiro entered the kitchen, Keith was already waiting for him, a fluffy white towel resting on his head and shoulders like a veil.

“Here,” Shiro handed him a pair of thick woolen socks — warm red, Keith’s favorite color. “Put them on. There’s always a draft in this place, I don’t want your cold to get worse.”

“Thanks,” Keith smiled. “Although it’s probably too late to be careful.”

“It’s never too late.”

There was a pot of freshly brewed lemon tea at the table, and two cups. Shiro filled both, shifting one closer to Keith when it was full, and Keith took a sip obediently.

“So?” Shiro sat down at the table, cradling his own cup of tea between his palms. “Care to explain what was so urgent you had to crawl through the storm, risking your life and scaring me half to death in the process?”

“I need a favor,” Keith scowled. “Can I spend the night with you?”

Shiro spit out the tea he was about to drink, barely avoiding inhaling some.

“What?” he asked, coughing.

“I made a terrible mistake,” Keith said woefully, eyes cast to the ceiling and lips trembling, too exaggerated to be entirely sincere. “I texted my uncle I had the flu. You can imagine what happened next.”

“Actually, I can’t. What happened?”

“He came over, that’s what! And I can’t keep him out — he has the keys. I gave him a copy for safekeeping, back when I moved in. So I tried hiding, but you can’t hide in a studio apartment. You’ve seen my place, I don’t even have proper furniture. Anyway, I told uncle Kolivan I’d be fine and he shouldn’t come over, but when did my words ever matter? He’s just like my mom, only worse. He never listens, because he’s a stubborn old man, and he’ll always see me as a stupid kid. And… I really don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“I… see.”

Shiro stared at Keith for a moment, then he set his unfinished teacup aside. Pinching his nose bridge, he took a deep breath.

“So let me get this straight. You have a cold. You told your uncle, and he came over to check on you. You heard your uncle knocking at the door, and you jumped out of the window of the fourth floor to shimmy down for at least fifteen feet under the pouring rain, ice-cold, until you reached my window, even though you couldn’t know for sure I would be there to open it for you in time.”

“No, I knew.” 

“How, pray tell?”

Having finished his tea, Keith set the empty cup down at the table, his cheeks flushed feverishly from the hot liquid he’d been drinking. He smiled.

“Because it’s you,” he said. “I trusted you to be there.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“But you  _ were _ .”

Shiro sighed.

“As much as I appreciate your trust — Keith, this goes beyond reckless. I’m not going to throw you out in cold, obviously, you can stay as long as you want… but you have to explain to me what’s so bad about your uncle you’d rather die than talk to him.”

“It’s not like that,” Keith winced, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “The parapet is wide enough. I wouldn’t have fallen off even if you didn’t open the window.”

“Maybe, but late October is no time for dancing in the rain.” Shiro paused to take a breath, and a sudden thought struck him. “Wait, so your uncle came over, and then what? Did he see you? Does he know where you are?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did he leave? Is he out there, looking for you? Or is he…” Shiro glanced at the kitchen wall. His bedroom separated the kitchen from Keith’s apartment, so there was no way to hear anything, but he couldn’t help imagining an old man hunched over Keith’s empty mattress, worried sick, clutching at his heart and muttering about his nephew disappearing into thin air. It was an unnerving mental image. “…is he _ still there? _ ”

Keith shrugged.

“I didn’t see him leave. I guess he’s waiting for me to return.”

“He must have figured you couldn’t have gone far without your phone… or your clothes, for that matter.” Shiro sighed again. “Keith… listen. Of course, you’re welcome at my place, and you can stay if you want to, but… honestly, I don’t understand. He’s your uncle, he’s worried about you. What’s so bad about facing him? Why do you hate him so much?”

A puzzled expression on his face, Keith frowned.

“I don’t hate him. I just don’t want to see him right now.”

“Is that not the same?”

“No, of course not. I told him I was fine, I told him not to come, but he didn’t listen, and now… we’ll end up fighting if I come back. He’s going to yell at me, and I’ll start yelling back, and I don’t want that. I hate that we always fight, that he doesn’t understand me because he’s not trying to. Him and mom both say I’m wasting my life on games and websites that are here today, gone tomorrow, that I need a ‘real job’, that I should be saving to buy a house of my own instead of wasting money on a rented apartment… uncle Kolivan wants me to work at the bookshop he owns, and — look, I understand their reasoning, but I can’t. I’m so sick and tired of their scrutiny. I can’t make a single choice without earning disapproval. So… what’s the point? He’s going to be mad at me anyway. If I hide, at least one of us can have a good night.”

As Keith spoke, his voice heated up and his whole body tensed; by the end of the rant, he almost stood up from his seat, leaning forward with his fists on the table, the towel sliding off to reveal one of his shoulders.

Shiro forced himself to look Keith in the eyes.

“Will it  _ really  _ be a good night?” he asked quietly. “Will you be able to sleep with a clear conscience knowing your uncle is next door wondering if you’re even alive?”

“Like he cares,” Keith scoffed. “He only wants me around as an heir to pass the legacy of his beloved family business onto.”

“But  _ you  _ care about him.”

At once, Keith deflated.

“I do,” he admitted with a sigh, fell back down onto the seat, shoulders slumping, and lowered his eyes. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just… really don’t want to fight tonight. Can I stay with you? Please?”

The last word Keith nearly whispered, his voice so quiet it was heartbreaking.

Shiro sighed with fond exasperation. For all his bravery and stubborn determination to be self-sufficient, Keith could be such a child sometimes — a shy one, lonely and afraid, half-expectant of punishment for reaching out. Something broken and torn apart, but still alive, aching, yearning to be seen, to be comforted.

Maybe it was a tear Shiro could never mend. Still… he wanted to try.

“Of course you can stay,” Shiro said softly. He reached across the table and took Keith’s hand. “I already said yes, didn’t I? Stay as long as you need. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.”

Keith looked up, and they locked eyes. Shiro swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. There was something so open, so vulnerable in the way Keith faced him and accepted his touch, letting Shiro in even as he was asking to be let in himself, that Shiro couldn’t help it: he wanted to wrap Keith in a hug, embrace him, and whisper in his ear everything was going to be alright.

Then, suddenly, Keith frowned and looked away.

“No… this is wrong. You were right. I can’t stop thinking about him there, alone in the dark, waiting for me. It’s only going to get worse the longer we delay. I should take responsibility and… go back there.”

Following Keith’s gaze, Shiro looked at the window. It was still raining.

“Oh no you don’t,” Shiro said sternly. “You’re not going back  _ that  _ way.”

“I was the best in my climbing class, you know.”

“Climbing class..? Anyway, I don’t care! You’re not risking your life on my watch. You’re going through the door.”

“But I don’t have the key on me.”

“So knock!”

“And what am I supposed to say?  _ ‘Hello, uncle Kolivan, I’m sorry I jumped out of the window when I saw you at the door, please let me in’ _ ? Ugh,” Keith grabbed the towel and buried his face into its folds. “I hate this so much.”

“Keith.” Shiro put his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith peeked at him from under the towel. “You have the right to feel safe in your own home. Ask your uncle to return the key you’ve given him, and ask him to leave. Calmly. It might not work, but if you want to be treated like an adult, then you have to act like one.”

“Are you calling me a baby?”

“Yes, baby, I am.”

Keith laughed. Shiro grinned, too.

“Okay,” Keith breathed out. “Patience yields focus. I’ll try… Can I come back to you if it goes wrong?”

“Anytime.”

Keith nodded.

“Okay,” he repeated. “I should go, then. Enough hiding, time to face the problem head-on. Otherwise, he’ll just sit there waiting for me all night… stubborn old man.”

Shiro decided not to say it seemed to be a family trait.

“I’m going,” Keith stood up, dropping the towel on the table. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Yeah…”

Keith paraded out of the kitchen, and Shiro was so busy staring at the towel as he tried not to stare at Keith’s all-but-naked lithe form, he actually blanked out for a moment.

Not now. Not under the circumstances. He wasn’t ready. Keith wasn’t ready either. It would have been inappropriate to sexualize him when he came here looking for safety and comfort.

_ Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. _

That underwear was really tight though.

Fuck. He looked.

Shiro covered his face with his hands and head-desked with a groan. There was no way back, was there? He was never going to see Keith as ‘just a friend’ anymore.

Tragically, as Matt had put it, he fell madly in lust with his hot next-door neighbor.

What a mess.

####  ***

When the dryer beeped indicating it was done with the load, Shiro shot up straight to his feet and cursed out loud. He was so enthralled by Keith’s presence that he completely forgot about the hoodie in the dryer!

Cursing over and over under his breath, Shiro bolted to get the laundry.

Immediately, he set off after Keith, the hoodie still warm in his hands.

####  ***

The “4D” door was locked, but Shiro could hear the muffled voices coming through. One belonged to Keith, and the other to an older man — must be his uncle. Both were speaking loudly, apparently, arguing right in the hallway.

“Where have you been? I was worried.”

“Nowhere. I went out to get some aspirin. I ran out of meds.”

“You went to the drug store in your underwear?”

“No! I asked my neighbor if he had any.”

“In your underwear.”

“No! It’s not like that! Ugh. Honestly, uncle, I date one guy, and now you assume I screw around with everyone I meet? You’re so— ugh!”

“What am I supposed to think, Keith? The last time you disappeared like that—”

“For one night!”

“You know it can be enough. A single mistake can ruin your life. I don’t want you to catch something worse than a flu—”

“Oh my god!!!”

The door flew open. Shiro barely managed to jump aside, clutching the hoodie to his chest. Keith, red-faced and wild-eyed, stumbled right into him as he ran out of the apartment.

“Whoa,” catching Keith in his arms, Shiro spun around to avoid tumbling to the ground from the momentum. “Hold up, Quicksilver.”

Breathing heavily, Keith blinked at him.

“Shiro?”

“Pardon the interruption, but…” Shiro handed the hoodie to Keith (it was a miracle he didn’t drop it when they smashed into each other). “You left it at my place.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Keith frowned. “What about your socks? Should I give them back?”

“Keep them, they suit you.”

A not-so-delicate cough came from behind Shiro’s back, from inside Keith’s apartment: the infamous uncle Kolivan cleared his throat.

Slowly, Shiro let go of Keith and turned around.

First of all, Kolivan turned out to be ridiculously tall — well over six feet, several inches taller; Shiro had to lift his chin to look him in the eyes. Second of all, he had a patchy beard and sharp brown eyes that bore into Shiro like a pair of knives. Third… he wasn’t actually old, just about forty years old, maybe even younger, and he was handsome. In many ways, he looked like an older, darker, rougher version of Keith.

“So,” Kolivan crossed his arms. “You’re the neighbor.”

“Uh… yes,” Shiro scowled right back at him. “Is there a problem?”

“You tell me.”

Keith stood quietly behind Shiro’s back. If it wasn’t for the warm huffs of breath regularly tickling his shoulder, Shiro would have wondered if Keith used the momentary distraction to sneak away on the sly.

“Well, Keith has a cold,” Shiro said. “I gave him some Tylenol and a pair of socks to keep his feet warm.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“What?”

“Are. You. A. Doctor?”

“No, I’m a mechanic,” refusing to be intimidated, Shiro took a step forward. “And you, sir, are rather rude. Not to mention, you’re trespassing — breaking and entering, actually. You have no legal rights to invade someone else’s home. Surrender the keys and leave the building immediately, or I’m going to call the police.”

Kolivan studied him for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

“I see,” he reached into his pocket, took out a keyring with a single key and tossed it to Keith who caught it with a soft yelp. “Careful with the ‘aspirin’, Keith. Looks like it has a bit of a kick.”

Shiro corrected him, “Tylenol.”

“Whatever pill-nouns you prefer,” Kolivan shook his head. “We’ll talk in the morning, Keith. Call me, or I’ll have to call your mother.”

“Yes, uncle,” Keith sighed. “See you.”

Kolivan grabbed his coat from the clothes rack on the wall and put it on. Both Shiro and Keith watched him in silence, neither of them daring to move until Kolivan left — taking the stairs rather than waiting for an elevator.

“Thanks,” Keith whispered when they were finally alone.

“I think I’m starting to understand why you’ve tried to hide. He reminds me of my father a little, they have the same stiff-lipped look.”

Glancing at Shiro sheepishly, Keith shifted from foot to foot. “Speaking of hiding… can I stay at your place after all? I’ll be gone in the morning, I swear. I just don’t want to return home right now.”

Shiro smiled.

“How many times will I have to say yes before the night is over, for you to believe I mean it?”

“If I could, I’d make you say yes all throughout the night.”

If Shiro was holding anything right now, he would have dropped it. His knees went weak at the image of Keith doing all sorts of things to him, and he swallowed quickly before he started drooling like a helpless fool.

“I, uh… I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, that came out wrong,” Keith paled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not! It’s fine. It’s all a misunderstanding. You were just saying you needed reassurance.”

“Right. Yeah, sure, of course. That’s exactly what I meant. Reassure me.”

Awkward — painfully awkward — Shiro reached out to pat Keith’s shoulder.

“My answer stands,” he said, his voice still a little shaky. “You can come over whenever you want. Just… put on some clothes, maybe? I, uh. I can give you a T-shirt to sleep in, but I don’t have a single spare pajama-pants.”

“I usually sleep in the nude,” Keith said. Those words put another suggestive image in Shiro’s mind, and he choked up on air a little. Keith blushed. “But I’ll try to find something! Just give me a few minutes.”

Shiro nodded. “Okay. Come over when you’re ready.”

They parted ways at that — Keith dived back into his apartment through the open door, and Shiro went back to his place.

His ears were burning. And not just ears.

####  ***

By the time Keith showed up — dressed in a loose black T-shirt and a pair of tight short shorts — Shiro managed to calm down a little by drinking the rest of the tea they’d left on the table earlier, even though the tea long since went cold.

Shiro didn’t comment on Keith’s choice of clothes. It was none of his business, right? So what if he could see… a lot… and imagine even more? He wasn’t supposed to look, so the blame was on him for sneaking glances at the booty, not on Keith’s booty shorts.

Bad, bad Shiro.

He turned on the kitchen tap and splashed his face with cold water. Enough dirty thoughts.

“Do you mind if I use my laptop?” Keith asked when they settled down in the living room. “My crew sent me a game invite, I wouldn’t mind playing a couple of matches.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Great!” Keith beamed at him, already perfectly content to curl up on the couch with the laptop in his lap. “Thanks, Shiro, you’re the best.”

“Flatterer,” Shiro sat down on the far end of the couch. “What game are you playing this time?”

“Overwatch. I told you, Allura wants that special event Mercy skin.”

“Is that a reward of some kind?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” Keith moved closer, his shoulder bumping into Shiro’s. Shiro didn’t mind in the least. “See, this is the character rooster, and this is Mercy. She’s a support hero, a healer, and she’s vital to the team. We would all die in under five minutes without her.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, so Allura’s a Mercy main. She usually rolls as a Pink Mercy, it’s her favorite color, but they have holiday events with special lootboxes, and you can win a special Halloween skin — Witch Mercy. Here’s the preview.”

The blond lady on the screen was dressed in a black-and-orange dress. It seemed unremarkable to Shiro, but he smiled and nodded.

“Understood.”

“I’m a D.Va main myself,” Keith proceeded to switch the blonde to another character, another girl, this one with a large robot next to her. “D.Va’s a tank. She’s not as fast as Genji or Reaper, but she can take more damage, and I love her animations. Also, she jumps out of the suit when it explodes!”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Hey, do you want to play? I have a spare account, if you want, we could play together. I bet you’d make a kick-ass Reinhardt.”

“Another time. I’d rather watch you play for now.”

Keith glanced at him askew, but shrugged. “Okay. Watch and learn.”

####  ***

How Keith managed to keep track of everything that happened on screen, Shiro had no idea. Flashes of color and sparkling flames, constant spinning and jumping — to Shiro, it looked like chaos, but Keith seemed to navigate the game world pretty well.

Shiro watched silently as Keith played.

Keith was the team leader, as far as Shiro could understand, he gave orders and assigned roles. Other five team members argued back sometimes, especially the guy playing Pharah (at least, that’s what Shiro thought the lady in a blue rocket suit was named), but it sounded more like friendly bickering than any real conflict.

Keith’s team won three matches in a row.

“You’re good at this,” Shiro commented.

“I am,” Keith smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. “I could use a break, though. Do you have any snacks?”

“What happened to your ‘oatmeal is sufficient’ attitude?” Shiro teased gently, and Keith laughed and shoved him playfully in the shoulder. Shiro caught his hand, holding it to interlace their fingers. “Hey, tiger, tone down the fighting vigor. Hitting people isn’t nice.”

“Sorry,” Keith smiled as he squeezed Shiro’s hand gently. “Is this nice?”

“Very nice.” Shiro let go of Keith’s hand and got up from the couch. “So be it. For your good behavior, I’ll make you a grilled cheese sandwich. Do you want some apple juice with that?”

“I’m down for anything with you.”

Shiro chuckled.

“Juice it is.”

####  ***

When Shiro returned to the living room from the kitchen, he found Keith skyping.

“…and he practically told my uncle to piss off!” Keith exclaimed. Then he noticed Shiro approaching and looked up at him, sheepish. “Oh. Hey, Shiro. I was just telling everyone about you.”

Shiro put the plate of grilled cheese and a glass of juice at the coffee table.

“Who’s everyone?” he asked as he sat down next to Keith.

“Do you want to say hi?” Keith grinned, excited, and moved his laptop to show Shiro the screen. “Hey everyone, say hi to Shiro!”

There were three frames on the screen. The first one displayed two people — a beautiful dark-skinned girl with silver locks, and a handsome young man clinging to her; the second frame displayed a big guy with deep brown eyes and a strong jaw, wearing a yellow headband; the last frame looked dark and empty at first glance, and only after Shiro squinted he managed to make out a silhouette of someone petite wrapped in a hoodie.

They all stared back at him, curious.

“Uh… hi, everyone,” Shiro waved awkwardly. “I’m Keith’s neighbor.”

“Oh, we know,” the handsome guy from the first frame snorted. “He won’t shut up about you.”

“Lance,” Keith growled.

“What? It’s true!”

“Maybe it’s best we don’t say it,” the girl next to Lance said gently and put her arm across his shoulders, then she faced the camera again. “Hi, Shiro, nice to meet you. I’m Allura.”

“And I’m Hunk!” the guy in the yellow headband chimed in. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Shiro frowned.

“No, I don’t believe I have ever been to Florida.”

“Your loss,” Hunk grinned. Then, suddenly, he gasped and slammed his forehead. “Ah! You’re that Japanese cooking tutorial guy! ShiroTheHero!”

Biting his lip not to curse out loud, Shiro covered his face with his hands. Indeed, a few years ago, when he was young and pretentious, he made a series of cooking tutorials… ‘cooking’ applied loosely. He had just moved out, struggling to make it on his own, and most of the so-called cooking lessons ended up being him trying to recollect his mother’s recipes and swearing at his own mistakes. Looking back, it was probably his way of coping with his mother’s death; he couldn’t exactly yell at cancer or the doctors who did everything they could, so he yelled at the cooking ingredients and kitchen utensils.

Honestly, it was embarrassing. He had long since deleted those stupid videos. How in nine hells did anyone remember?

“Holy shit, no way,” an oddly familiar voice said. “You know him too?”

Shiro peeked at the laptop screen through his fingers.

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Hunk asked. “Since when do you watch funny cooking tutorials, Pidge?”

The hooded figure from the last frame — Pidge — moved, and the lights in her room came on revealing her to be…

“Katie?” Shiro asked in disbelief, his mouth gaping open.

“Hey, Shirogane,” the girl pulled down her hoodie, revealing her light brown pigtails, and smiled. “Small world, huh?”

“Wait, you know each other?” Keith frowned.

“He works for my dad,” Pidge said.

“I’ve only seen his videos,” Hunk said. “For what it’s worth, they’re hilarious. I’ve never seen anyone swear so much as they’re chopping veggies. And, believe me, I’ve seen plenty of people chopping veggies.”

“Honestly, Keith, after all your panegyrics in his honor,” Lance said, “I almost feel like I know your ‘neighbor’ better than my own girlfriend.”

Allura giggled at that.

Bewildered, Shiro shook his head and looked at Keith. Keith looked back at him, apparently, just as confused.

“This is weird,” Shiro said.

“Yeah,” everyone agreed.

“If I knew it was him, I could’ve given you a few pointers,” Pidge added cryptically.

Keith blushed. “I don’t need any… pointers.”

All of Keith’s friends made a variety of snorting noises. Shiro got a sense that he was definitely missing something.

“Anyway,” Keith said with dignity. “Who’s down for a gaming night next weekend?”

“I’m free!” Pidge exclaimed. “My, uh, college exams don’t start in a while. I can spare the time. Any day.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. College? Katie Holt was a high school sophomore, if he recalled correctly, a senior at most. She was definitely not a college student. Was she lying to her friends?

None of the others batted an eye.

“Not me,” Hunk said. “Shay and I both have to study.”

“I’m tied up with family events until Thanksgiving,” Lance said.

“I’ve also had enough of Overwatch for a while,” Allura said.

“But you want that witchy skin!” Lance looked at her like a sad puppy.

“It’s okay,” she cupped his cheek. “There’s no guarantee I’ll get it even if we play again and again.”

“Fucking lootboxes,” Keith, Hunk, and Pidge said simultaneously.

Shiro frowned. He had never heard Katie Holt use that kind of language before… of course, he barely knew her, and it’s not like she would swear in front of her parents and older brother. Still… it was an odd experience, seeing her like that. And the fact that she lied about being in college… Did the rest of the group even know she was a minor?

Hell. How much did they all hide from their families, friends… neighbors?

How little did Shiro really know about Keith?

“Shiro.”

“Huh?” he blinked back to reality. Keith was looking at him, slightly concerned. “What?”

“I’ve asked if you want to play with us next week,” Keith smiled. “Not necessarily Overwatch. We could do an Old Republic op, or any other game. Anything you want.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, why not,” Shiro chuckled. “Although it feels like I’m being invited into a cult.”

Some of Keith’s friends gasped in indignation; Allura and Hunk laughed.

“Keith would make a great cult leader,” Allura said.

“What?” Lance gasped again. “No, I’m the leader!”

“Of course you are,” Allura patted his cheek, and Lance pouted.

“This is patronizing. I feel very patronized.”

Keith snorted.

“I am no leader,” he said. “If anyone’s the leader, it’s you, Allura. You choose most of the games we play, and you’re the only one who can make Lance shut up…”

“Hey!!!”

Watching the scene, Shiro couldn’t hold back a smile. Whether he admitted it or not, Keith was in his element, chatting with his friends easily; it almost made Shiro jealous, this comfortable companionship they all seemed to share.

“Hey, Keith, by the way,” Pidge chimed in, “when are you going to do that Morrowind stream you’ve promised?”

Keith frowned.

“I told you, I don’t do live streams.”

“No, you promised you were going to try!” Pidge cried out, wringing her hands. “Come on, waiting for a whole month for one video takes forever!”

“A live stream?” Shiro asked. “Are you going to record yourself playing in real time?”

“Basically, yes. Well, maybe, or maybe not.” Keith shrugged. “I just don’t see the point. It’s like reality TV — a dead end going nowhere. Every mistake you make is there to be seen, you can’t edit out the boring parts, you can’t prepare or structure encounters like for a video… you never know how it turns out.”

“That’s the fun part!” Hunk and Pidge cried out in unison.

Keith rolled his eyes. “I just don’t think there is a need for yet another gaming streamer who yells profanities at sprites and polygons. There are tons of those already. What’s the point? My subscribers want to see the games I’m covering, not my face covering their screens.”

Shiro didn’t like Keith’s self-deprecating approach.

“That’s not true,” he said. “Take me, for example. I subscribed to your channel because I like your presentation manner, not because I’m particularly into video games. Half of them, I’d never even heard the titles of, before I started watching your videos.”

“Oh.” Keith glanced at his friends, who all nodded, at Shiro, then back to his laptop. “Well, I write a script before making a video. With live streams, there is no script. And, again, nobody needs me moaning in their ear about some ridiculous boss battle.”

“I, for one, would be happy to hear you moaning in my ear.”

It was the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces staring at Shiro from the computer display like a magic box of judgement, that made Shiro realize what he just said.

Everything was very quiet all of a sudden. Keith was too close. The horrified glares all of Keith’s friends drilled right into Shiro’s skull. He wished a black hole would swallow him whole right about now. Sadly, no cosmic events came to his rescue.

Frantically searching for a way to recover, Shiro looked around; there was a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on the coffee table, going cold; immediately, he grabbed one and stuffed it whole in his mouth.

Someone — Lance or Hunk — coughed.

“Um… I think Keith has a nice voice, too,” Allura said. “Doesn’t he?”

“Right, yeah,” Hunk and Pidge supported her. “He totally does.”

“Well! I think his voice is boring and his face is ugly,” Lance said. “But, clearly, I’m in the minority here. Statistically, Keith, four out of six people find you hot.”

“Five out of seven,” Hunk corrected. “Shay digs the hairstyle.”

“The mullet? Really?”

“She says it’s  _ fashionably old-school _ .”

“Would you all stop talking about me like I’m not even here!” Keith groaned and threw his hands up in the air; the computer on his lap swayed dangerously, and Shiro had to stabilize it from falling down. Keith hardly noticed. “I hate every single one of you so much. None of you understand this is not about someone liking my voice, or face, or whatever. I want people to focus on the games I present in my videos, not on me personally!”

Hunk huffed.

“You’re the one to talk, buddy. I offered you cooking lessons for how long? You always refuse. And now, apparently, you’re taking lessons from your beefcake neighbor? I guess  _ your  _ interest in the material also depends on the person presenting it, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Hunk shook his head. “You have some odd ideas about how the world works, that’s all.”

“Yeah, man,” Lance nodded. “You’ve got something, you gotta use it to your advantage. Look at me, I do live streams all the time!”

Keith scoffed. “Exactly.”

“Hey! People love my streams! Allura, tell him.”

“I think we should give Keith some space,” Allura said gently. “He can make up his own mind about streaming… and other things. It’s not for us to decide.”

“Thank you,” Keith said with an undertone of gratitude mixed with sarcasm.

Shiro, for the most part, was simply grateful for their little spat, because it covered up for his own slip-up. What on earth was he thinking, telling Keith he wanted to hear him moan? In front of other people, no less. Just… no.

“Speaking of giving space, Shay and I are supposed to meet for a study date in an hour,” Hunk said. “I should get going.”

“That’s my boy!” Lance cheered. “Allura and I have plans for tonight, too.”

Allura blushed. “Lance…”

“TMI! TMI!” Pidge plugged her ears. “You are all perverts. I’m off to bed. Goodnight!”

“We’re just going to play Borderlands!” Lance protested, but it was too late — Pidge had already disconnected, shutting her laptop close with an elbow.

“Yeah, I’m gone too. See ya,” Hunk waved. “It was nice to meet you, Shiro. You shall forever remain a veggie-chopping hero in my heart.”

Hunk’s frame had gone dark and disappeared as soon as Keith and Shiro said goodbye. Lance and Allura followed his example, thanking Keith for the fun time and wishing him good night, and then they were gone as well.

The call ended, and Keith closed his laptop.

Filled with voices and laughter just a moment ago, the living room suddenly grew very quiet.

“So…” Keith glanced at Shiro, a tentative smile in the corner of his mouth. “Here we are. Sorry it’s taken so long. My friends haven’t scared you off, have they?”

“Not in the least,” Shiro promised. “I mean, it’s a little odd that you’re friends with my coworker’s little sister, and another one of your friends knows about an old video series I’ve done my best to scrub off the internet, but aside from that? It’s all good.”

“Good. Actually, I’m kinda curious about those videos… but I can see the subject makes you uncomfortable, so I won’t ask.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your discretion.”

Keith nodded, not saying another word. Silence lingered in the air for a moment, then Shiro sighed.

“My mom died when I was nineteen,” he said. “I made all sorts of stupid choices back then. Dressing up in a knock-off ninja costume and chopping up vegetables while swearing in Japanese… Shiro the Hero, a ryo-nin waging war against unhealthy eating habits… ugh. It wasn’t my worst attempt to reconnect with the culture, but… it’s embarrassing. I was an idiot. Being third gen, I’m so far removed I can’t even speak the language properly. It’s not my culture, it’s not even my parents’ culture… But my mom kept a cooking book, the book she inherited from her mother, the book she gifted to me when I moved out — and it was all I had left of her. Because my father got rid of everything else. I understand why — remembering hurts — but having nothing to remember her by hurts just as much. So… I made some videos, trying to feel closer to her, pretending it was working. Then I realized the whole thing was a mockery of my heritage, and I stopped.”

Keith placed his hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“I understand.”

“I wish you didn’t,” Shiro smiled. The choice of words made him remember their conversation on the roof from a while ago, when they’d just met, and he let out a bitter laugh. “Man, I overshare a lot, don’t I? I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Keith squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Honestly? No, I don’t. Talking about my family makes me realize some problems don’t have a solution, and things are just going to get worse over time. Like poison — one small act ruins everything. Knowing there are things I can’t fix… talking about it doesn’t give me a sense of validation, it just makes me sad.”

“Then we won’t talk about it.”

Sliding his laptop aside, Keith reached for the plate on the coffee table.

“It’s already cold,” Shiro said.

“Like I care,” Keith snatched a sandwich from the plate, stubborn as ever, and immediately took a bite. “Don’t think you’ve changed my entire lifestyle by teaching me better breakfast habits. This broken boy still needs fixing.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Keith. All I’m trying to do is give you the tools to fix yourself. I want you to have a choice. If you end up choosing your old habits… fine. It’s your life. What’s important is that you make an informed decision.”

“You know… you might be the only person I know who doesn’t try to mold me into something they like better than myself.”

“Maybe I already like you just the way you are.”

“Even my gross eating habits?”

“Well… they’re more horrific than gross, but… I can live with that, provided you take some vitamins to compensate for the nutritional deficiency.”

“Deal.”

Smirking, Keith pinched off a little piece of the sandwich and brought it right towards Shiro’s mouth. Shiro took it, trying not to focus too hard on the brief sensation of Keith’s fingertips brushing against his lower lip.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Keith said.

Shiro agreed, “Not bad at all.”

They finished the sandwiches in companionable silence.

####  ***

When the clock struck midnight, they were out of the last plausible excuse not to go to bed.

“So… do you still have that futon?” Keith asked.

“It’s an old dust rag more than it is a proper sleeping arrangement,” Shiro said. “The couch is too narrow to sleep on, too. You’re my guest, and rules of hospitality oblige me to offer you the best… the bed, that is. But I’m really not thrilled by the idea of sleeping on the floor.”

Keith shrugged.

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. If you take the futon, I’ll just end up feeling bad and won’t be able to sleep.”

“So what, the sleepover is cancelled?” Keith raised his eyebrows. “Are you sending me back home?”

“No,” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “What I mean is… my bed’s big enough for two. Unless you’re afraid I’ll start molesting you, or something.”

“Will you?”

“What?”

“Will you, as you put it, start  _ molesting  _ me?”

“No, of course not. That would be entirely inappropriate.”

“Not even a little bit? Shame.”

Shiro blinked. “Huh? What—”

“Nothing,” Keith shook his head, seemingly amused by Shiro’s confusion. “Okay. I won’t make any promises, but whatever arrangement you’re offering — I’ll take it.”

Shiro wasn’t certain what Keith meant by that. Still, he considered it was better not to ask, lest things become awkward due to another misunderstanding — they already had much too many of those.

“Okay,” he said. “The bedroom’s over there.”

Keith smiled.

“Come on, then.”


	6. Night of the Moods

####  ***

Naturally, sleeping proved impossible.

It started with Keith unceremoniously sliding out of his clothes right in front of the bed, while the lights were still on. Shameless and unconcerned, he stripped down to his underwear (black) and stood in front of the wall mirror checking himself out, like it was the most natural thing to do before going to bed.

“May I borrow your hairbrush?” Keith asked, glancing at Shiro over the shoulder.

Shiro felt dizzy, his mouth dry. Standing next to the bed, stiff like a bean pole, he couldn’t stop staring at Keith. Words? What were those again? If someone asked him the name of the planet they were on, Shiro wouldn’t have remembered.

“Yes,” he whispered. He would have said yes to just about anything Keith asked of him right now. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Keith flashed him a timid smile.

Shiro knew he should have looked away, but he couldn’t force himself. He wanted to look at Keith until his eyes dried out.

Keith was gorgeous. Caressed by the muted light of the floor lamp next to the mirror, he looked like a marble statue on display — his every edge and every curve perfect — a vision made flesh. Dreamlike, dreamy, he was almost too beautiful to be real, the monochrome palette of his ivory skin and black hair (and underwear, that bothersome piece of cloth) making him appear all the more surreal, like a ghost.

A very… shapely… ghost.

Shiro swallowed, his throat dry. When did this happen? He had seen Keith scantily dressed before — earlier this very night, in fact — yet it never felt so intense and breathtakingly intimate. As a matter of fact, Keith wasn’t Shiro’s type, not at all. He liked them big, right? Keith, slender like a needle, looked like he’d break if Shiro tried to hold him. Delicate. For all his sharp edges, menacing glares and growls, his hot temper and insufferable seriousness, still — so delicate.

God… Shiro was in over his head.

“You’re staring.”

“I am,” Shiro admitted; there was a puddle of warmth in his chest, too intense to ignore, too real to make excuses.

Keith didn’t say anything in response. He put the hairbrush he’d been using back to the shelf under the mirror, and turned to face Shiro.

Shiro closed his eyes and — his knees felt weak — sat down.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We should get some sleep before the sun rises.”

“We should,” Keith agreed.

Three steps separated the bed from the wall with the mirror. Keith took those three steps — Shiro heard every single one, even though his pulse was drumming dubstep in his ears — and came to a stop in front of Shiro, body heat radiating from him.

“Which side should I take?”

“Huh? Oh. Whichever.”

“You don’t have a favorite side of the bed?”

Shiro shrugged, not trusting himself to speak, lest he blurted out some nonsense like ‘wherever you are is my favorite side’. He had said enough incriminating things for tonight.

“What’s with all the pillows, by the way? You have a whole squadron of them here,” Keith sat down next to Shiro, their knees bumping into each other by accident, and Shiro wanted to scream… or, even better, to pin Keith down and kiss him like a madman, quenching the inescapable thirst with the taste of his skin, drunk on the sight of him and the smell of stinging nettle in his hair. Make him moan calling out Shiro’s name, pleading for more. “Do you really need all these?”

Shiro grabbed a pillow and hugged it close, hiding his face.

“I see,” Keith said with a hint of amusement. “Well… good night.”

Keith’s weight shifted on the mattress as he lied down; Shiro felt it rather than saw the movement, and the thrill of this non-visual observation made him shiver. It was electric, being so close, not quite daring to look.

Shiro set his pillow aside.

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep right away,” he confessed.

“Why don’t you start by lying down?” Keith murmured in a low voice. “You’re so tense you’re like a tightrope. Lie down, close your eyes… relax.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

Shiro leaned back and let himself fall down; lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling.

“Shiro.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have something specific on your mind?”

“Maybe.”

Propping his head up with one of the pillows, Keith was lying on his side, staring at Shiro, so serious and quiet. He drew quick shallow breaths, the fact that Shiro noticed for some reason; perhaps, he had something on his mind as well.

It could have been easy, Shiro thought suddenly, to reach out and touch him, to cup his face, tread fingers through his hair. Keith would probably let him.

Shiro turned on his side to look at Keith directly. He put his hand next to Keith’s, the outer edges of their hands touching.

Keith didn’t move away.

If Shiro tried, Keith might have allowed Shiro to kiss him, he realized with sudden clarity.

Oddly enough, instead of tempting him further, the thought made Shiro pause. It was… uneasy, frightening. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that, somehow, he was taking advantage of the young man in his bed. Shiro remembered everything: the ‘molding’ statement, Keith’s vehement denial in front of his uncle, Keith’s half-hearted coming out — “I don’t know what I am” — and their conversation from the dawn of their friendship, that vulnerable look on Keith’s face as he had said that he was accepting Shiro’s help and attention because it wasn’t the kind of “special treatment” that Shiro would hold against him later.

Shiro had promised not to do anything inappropriate, and Keith  _ trusted  _ him. If he betrayed that promise by making advances, Shiro would be betraying that trust.

Wincing in self-revulsion, Shiro moved his hand away.

“Something bothers me about Katie Holt, actually,” he said. “Your Pidge. Don’t you find it a little odd that she hangs out with you?”

“Huh? No. Why?”

“Well… you realize she’s not actually a college student, right?”

“She’s a smart girl,” Keith smiled. “But, yeah, it’s kinda obvious.”

“Then you realize she’s a minor.”

Keith made a shrugging movement, or maybe he just shifted away from Shiro.

“You don’t think that’s odd, a sixteen years old high-schooler hanging out with you?” Shiro asked. “As far as I can tell, the rest of your group, everyone’s in their twenties.”

“Hunk is nineteen,” Keith frowned. “Look, I know it sounds bad when you put it that way, but it’s not like that. If anything, we look out for her. Think of it this way: she’s a gamer, so if we shun her from our group, will she stop playing the game she loves — the game she’s good at — or will she start looking for another group of friends?”

“The latter, probably.”

“Exactly. You don’t know who she might stumble into. It can be kids her age, or it can be a predator, or a bunch of alt-right neo-nazis. Do you have any idea how awful it can get? The kind of people… screaming slurs, sending death threats… plus, she’s a girl. That makes everything ten times worse. Sure, there are a lot of nice people, but there are so many horrible people too — and you can guess which group screams the loudest. So… better us than a pack of bigots, right? Pidge is a minor, but she’s a good teammate, and we have her back. We would never let anyone harm her.”

“You really trust your gaming friends.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have called them friends otherwise.”

“Right,” Shiro smiled. It was only natural that Keith took friendship seriously; he took everything seriously. “Okay. I still think it’s bad that she’s lying to you, and probably to her family about you all, but if it’s as bad out there as you say…”

“It’s worse.”

“Well, then I’m glad you and your friends managed to find each other in the sea of hatred.”

“Well, _ I’m  _ glad I’ve found  _ you _ .”

Keith giggled, making such a soft bubbly sound of sheepish delight that Shiro couldn’t help smiling back.

For a moment, they looked each other in the eyes.

Finally, Keith sighed and looked away.

“It wasn’t always like that. The gaming community, I mean. Back when I was just starting, things were… not better, maybe, but less organized, and at the same time — more uniform. There was less vitriol, less preening, dog-whistling and virtue-signaling. Now the community is so divided, you can’t even call yourself a gamer without having to clarify which ideology you subscribe to.”

“Really? I never thought about that.”

“If there are people, there is conflict… I don’t know. Maybe I am overthinking this. It’s just games, right? It’s not real.”

“It’s real enough for you to bet your career on it.”

“Career,” Keith snorted. “If my mom or uncle heard you…”

“Your mom? I understand your uncle wants you to inherit the family business, but… your mother disapproves as well?”

“To put it mildly.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to make it on your own? To prove them wrong?”

Keith paused before answering.

“It’s a part of it, I guess. But…” he glanced at Shiro, then looked away again. “I don’t know if I should bring it up, if you’re uncomfortable talking about family issues…”

“Keith, you can tell me anything.”

There was another moment of silence.

“I never told you the truth about oatmeal, did I?” Keith asked suddenly.

Shiro frowned. “You said it was a quick meal sufficient to satisfy your hunger, even if you didn’t care for the taste.”

“Yeah, well. The truth is… my dad liked oatmeal. I always asked him for cereal, like on the TV, fruit loops or honey crunch, but he said oatmeal was better for my health. He added fruits and berries to make it taste better, and I always picked out the treats and left the oatmeal itself on the plate. I only wanted the good part, see? I didn’t want to bother with the yucky gray sludge. And then… my dad died, and nobody forced me to eat oatmeal anymore.”

Keith looked somewhere over Shiro’s shoulder, into the nothingness of the darkened room; his voice remained even throughout the speech.

“Do you miss him?” Shiro asked quietly.

“No,” Keith replied. “That’s the worst part, isn’t it? I can barely remember him. I cried so much at his funeral, and mom cried, and now she doesn’t even keep a family photo at her desk. Every trace of his presence is erased, stored away in a drawer, gathering dust. We loved him so much, and now… if he were to come back, somehow, I don’t know if we would  _ recognize  _ him.”

“So you force yourself to eat oatmeal… to remember?”

“Not like you did with your cooking videos. I’m not trying to feel closer to the man I don’t really remember. It’s just a way of honoring him, you know? What little piece of memory I have left, I don’t want to let go. He was important. I want to… leave a mark, that it happened. He was here. He made a difference.”

“Keith, I don’t think your father would have wanted to make the kind of difference that leaves his son neglecting his own needs and depriving himself of joy.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He loved me… for as long as he was there, he loved me.”

“Then you’re lucky to have had that.”

Keith shifted closer to Shiro.

“Uncle Kolivan doesn’t tolerate picky eaters. He maintains a strict diet, and he never coddled me. One time James Griffin — a boy from my class — shared a bag of potato chips with me, and uncle Kolivan saw it. That evening for dinner, instead of food, I received a lecture about ‘eating garbage’. I really missed my dad’s oatmeal that night.”

“Keith…”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, okay? Uncle Kolivan helped me a lot. He helped me study, he paid for my college. He bought Red for me.”

“Your computer. Right,” Shiro sighed. “Where was your mother?”

“Away. She’s always away. She brings me gifts and souvenirs when she comes home, like that knife on a chain — that’s from somewhere in Eastern Europe, I think. She loves me, it’s just… I’m a constant reminder of everything wrong with her life.”

“You can’t believe your mother honestly thinks that!”

“Maybe  _ you  _ can’t. You don’t know her.”

“Do  _ you  _ even know her?”

“No, but that just proves my point. For all the love between me and my family — and make no mistake, we do love each other — there are losses you can’t recover from. Shiro, you of all people should understand that.”

“Whoa, low blow,” Shiro winced, then sighed again. “I guess… there is a certain truth to your argument. It’s not universal, and it’s not the kind of truth I want to entertain, but… I don’t know enough about your family to dispute it.”

Keith opened his mouth intending to say something, but suddenly stopped and frowned.

“What do you keep in your bed?” he pulled his hand from under the pillow, a small object in his palm. “Is that… a ring?”

Shiro gasped.

It was a ring.  _ The ring. _ The one Shiro bought and never had the chance to use, because the man that ring was meant for had walked out of his life the day before the ring arrived. The ring Shiro usually kept on the nightstand next to the alarm clock — it must have got knocked down at some point when Shiro was changing the sheets to accommodate for his guest.  _ That  _ fucking  _ ring. _

Why didn’t he throw the stupid thing away or had it molten down for scrap metal?

“Are you married?” Keith asked playfully. “Shiro, you really should have told me before inviting me into your bed.”

Shiro sat up and snatched the ring away from Keith. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to.

“Wait, you’re not actually…” Keith, catching onto that something was off, sat up too. “I— Shiro, I’m so sorry. I thought it was one of your crafting projects.”

It was a way out, an easy one. To smile and laugh it off, to lie — _ of course it’s just a project  _ — like it never happened. Like it never meant anything. Like the honesty and trust in his open communication  _ with Keith _ meant nothing, too.

Shiro sighed.

“I should have got rid of it.”

“May I ask… what happened?” Keith moved closer and touched the side of Shiro’s face. Not quite a caress, more like checking for fever. A gesture of concern. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Shiro shrugged. “It’s over. He walked out.”

“Oh. He’s alive? I thought…” the tips of Keith’s fingers lingered at Shiro’s cheekbone, no doubt tracing the edge of the scar. That cursed scar. “I thought you lost him in the accident.”

Mirthless, Shiro chuckled despite himself.

“You could say that.”

Keith lowered his hand to grip Shiro’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

Tell him? About the streetlight and the truck, and Shiro’s recklessness. About the black hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. His anger, his fear, his desperation. About…

No.

“There’s nothing to tell. He broke up with me. Maybe it was inevitable and the accident was just an excuse. Maybe we drifted apart, maybe he met someone else. Maybe it’s my fault. Honestly? I don’t know, and I don’t care anymore, and I certainly don’t want to relive that night.”

“Okay. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

They sat in the lightless room, side by side on the edge of the bed; Keith let go of Shiro’s shoulder but didn’t move away. Shiro was grateful for that.

The ring in his hand felt heavy and unpleasantly warm.

“You know… I thought about melting it down to be reshaped.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I ask myself this very question, and I don’t have the answer.” Shiro sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to let go.”

He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times. The ring was barely visible in the dark, its yellow glint dull and harmless.

Keith moved close and put his head on Shiro’s shoulder. It was heavy, but a pleasant weight. His hair tickled Shiro’s neck. Slowly he traced a finger along Shiro’s forearm and stopped at the heel of his palm.

“You know… it can be your oatmeal. A way of honoring the past. A reminder of better times.”

“Better? No, I don’t think so,” Shiro smiled briefly at Keith who looked up when he spoke. Keith seemed to understand: his fingers wrapped around Shiro’s wrist. Shiro sighed. “If it has to symbolize anything… this is a promise. A promise unmade, a promise unbroken. A reminder that I have to listen to my partner and take care of his needs. A vow… to be a better man.”

“Then you should keep it,” Keith covered Shiro’s hand with his palm and guided him into making a fist again, the ring hidden in his grasp. Shiro looked up to meet his eyes, and Keith smiled. “Just, maybe, not under your pillow when you invite a guy over. It might give your guest the wrong idea.”

“Alright, the next time I invite you into my bed, I’ll make sure there are no stray jewelry pieces scattered around.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Shiro stood up, walked over to the nightstand to hide the ring in a drawer; then he realized Keith didn’t correct him when he’d mentioned a ‘next time’, and he almost dropped the ring on the floor.

“Um… Keith.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” how was he supposed to ask if Keith  _ liked  _ him, without sounding like a middle-schooler? “Have you considered… perchance, is there something… Oh! Remember, when we started working on the wall, you said you accepted my help only because you trusted me not to ask for anything in return?”

“I never said  _ that _ ,” Keith frowned. “Shiro, what are you talking about? Of course you can ask for anything that you need from me. You’re my friend. I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

“It’s not your help that I want.”

“Then what?”

Good question. Shiro could no longer deny that he liked Keith and wanted him; they enjoyed each other’s company, they had fun together, and there was a spark — a whole lightning storm, even — of physical attraction, but… was it enough? Risking their friendship for the sake of a relationship, was it really worth it? Keith had mentioned he had been through a break-up recently, too, so what if this whole thing was a rebound — for him, or for Shiro; what if they were clinging to each other out of fear of being alone?

It was too soon to commit. They had become acquainted a little over a month ago, and no matter how intense this wonderful October had been, it was hardly enough time to get to know each other.

Even if Shiro felt like he’d known Keith since forever, this intimacy was just an illusion.

Keith was sitting on the edge of Shiro’s bed. Shiro looked at him: pale and vulnerable, stripped down to his underwear, messy-haired, lanky and awkward, boney like a bird and prickly like a hedgehog, Keith faced him with no shame in his gentle steel-colored eyes.

“I need more time,” Shiro said, whispered, pleaded. “I need… certainty.”

“Okay,” Keith nodded. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask any more questions.

Maybe he understood.

####  ***

They were lying in bed, back to back.

Shiro wished he could sleep, but the clock on his nightstand said 2:35 AM, and he was no closer to falling asleep then he had been the moment they’d entered the bedroom together.

Even after everything was said and done… Keith still smelled like grass, and Shiro still wanted to kiss him.

Damnation.

####  ***

A melody woke Shiro up; loud, insistent, inexplicably familiar… he blinked, returning to the land of the living, and then he gasped because he finally recognized the song. It was the same song Keith had set to play on repeat the first night he’d stayed at Shiro’s place after they had been gluing acoustic panels to the wall.

_ “We’re no strangers to love…” _

It was the fucking rickroll song.

“Ugh,” Shiro groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Why?”

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I forgot I had an alarm on!” Keith scrambled up to turn off the sound, but his phone was at the nightstand on Shiro’s side of the bed; he reached for it and dropped it on the floor. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry—”

_ “You wouldn’t get this from any other guy!” _ the song assured, as Keith pretty much climbed on top of Shiro to grab the phone from the floor.  _ “I just want to tell you how I’m feeling—” _

“Make it stop…”

“I’m trying!”

Keith lost his balance, and his body smashed into Shiro with its full weight.

“Ugh!” Shiro grabbed a pillow and burrowed his head under the fluffy barrier. It didn’t help; the cursed song was getting louder by the second. “What time is it?”

“Six… ah, six thirty.”

_ “Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye—” _

“Keith, for the love of…”

“Got it!”

The silence blossomed like a lightning through the night sky, an instant release, filling the room with blessed nothingness.

Shiro breathed out a sigh of relief.

It was quiet. The pillow on his head blocked the dim morning light, and the comfy cozy cocoon of blankets and sheets did a great job lulling Shiro back to sleep. Drowsy, he drifted between sleep and consciousness; Keith, warm and heavy, was lying beside him — half on top of him, really — and breathing steadily, a slight pleasant tickle spreading across Shiro’s chest with every exhale. Nice and relaxing.

They could probably sleep in, at least for a couple more hours. It’s not like they had anywhere to be.

“Keith.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you have the rickroll song as your alarm?”

“Everyone hates their alarm sound eventually. I picked the one I already hated so the association wouldn’t ruin a song I liked.”

“Smart. Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you set an alarm at six thirty in the morning, on a Sunday?”

“So I had the time to clean up before going for a run with you.”

“It’s too cold to run.”

“It’s an old alarm. I always forget to turn it off for good.”

“I see… Keith?”

“Yes, Shiro, I’m listening.”

“I don’t want to move. Can you stay with me a little longer?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Keith snatched the pillow from Shiro’s face — only to lay it down next to the pillow under Shiro’s head, and to cuddle close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

His eyes still closed, Shiro smiled.

####  ***

There was a ring on his finger — a wedding band — and he couldn’t move his hand. The ring weighed him down, making the whole arm throb with a heavy sensation, hot and sharp and unpleasant, on the verge of painful, like a thousand tiny needles pricking it at once.

Lights streamed right into his eyes, blinding; there were people around, but he didn’t recognize them. A crowd of strangers wearing white, cheering; at first it looked like a wedding. Then — suddenly — he realized he was restrained, strapped to a table — an operation table — and the people were doctors, not spectators.

One of the doctors moved closer. There was a surgical mask and lab glasses covering their face; it was hard to tell who or what was hiding behind it.

They were holding a big butcher knife in their hands.

“You’ll be alright,” the doctor whispered, their voice sickly sweet, strangely familiar and utterly unrecognizable. “Everything will be okay, just lie still…”

They were going to cut his arm off, Shiro realized with sudden clarity. He screamed, thrashing against the restraints — to no avail.

The ring burned. Like a curse, it spread corruption; strips of skin turned purple and black, gangrenous.

“It’s the ring!” Shiro screamed. “It’s just the ring, take it off!”

“Oh, but you never put it on, did you?” the doctor suddenly took off their mask, and that smile — Shiro would recognize it anywhere. “Why didn’t you ask me sooner, Takashi? I would have said yes. Now look what you’ve done to yourself. This is all your fault.”

Panicked, Shiro jerked his hand free — and realized there was no ring on his finger anymore, no restraints, no nothing. In fact, he was naked, and all the people in white robes were laughing and pointing fingers at him, and the man he used to love was laughing at him too.

And the knife was still there.

“No,” Shiro whispered. “Please, no…”

His arm was corrupted to the shoulder by now, covered in bursts of sores and broken skin, little cuts that oozed ichor instead of blood, thick and black, and awful. It was rotting away, and it didn’t even hurt — the arm just felt numb, and he couldn’t move it even though nothing restrained him.

“You did this to yourself, Takashi.”

There was a roar of laughter, a howl of cheering — cheerful — gleeful voices, voices maiming and mutilating his name, making it dirty, and the knife grew bigger, all of a sudden looking more like a huge double-bladed axe — the mask was back on, but it wasn’t a surgical mask anymore, it was the black hood of an executioner, and the executioner swinged the blade.

The blade started falling—

####  ***

“Shiro!”

Gasping for air, he opened his eyes.

His bedroom. Morning, sunlight peeking through the blinds he’d forgotten to close last night. His bed, linens wet from his cold sweat, an invading army of pillows.

Keith.

“Hey,” calm and gentle, Keith brushed the sticky gray bangs off Shiro’s forehead. He looked concerned, but his hand was dry and cool against Shiro’s aching head. “It’s only a dream. You’re okay. I’m here.”

As Keith kept stroking his face, Shiro closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“What gave it away? That I was having a nightmare,” Shiro asked finally, his voice treacherously shaky. “Did I wake you up?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Shiro let out a weak, humorless chuckle. “Did I scream so loud you heard it from another room and came running to my rescue? Man, those walls are shoddy. Maybe I need to soundproof my own apartment, too.”

“No, you didn’t scream. You were shaking, moaning… at first, I didn’t know if I should wake you up or bring you a tissue.”

Now Shiro laughed with more ease.

“Thanks, I guess…”

He opened his eyes and caught Keith looking at him. There was a hint of sadness in Keith’s eyes and a lingering bit of concern, but mostly he looked fond, with a small private smile in the corner of his lips.

“I didn’t call out the wrong name by accident, did I?” Shiro asked, returning the smile.

“Which name would be that?”

_ ‘Any name that isn’t yours’,  _ Shiro wanted to answer, but it would have come out wrong. They were talking about nightmares, after all.

“It wasn’t that kind of dream,” he promised, and Keith nodded.

“I know.”

Shiro wanted to move, to take Keith’s hand; only when he tried that, he realized what was wrong, and he winced.

“Ow, I think my arm is actually numb.”

“That…” at once, Keith moved away, sitting up on his heels. He sighed, hands in his lap, apologetic. “That might have been me. I, um… I didn’t realize your arm was under my pillow. Does it hurt? I can give you a massage to, uh, restore the blood flow.”

“Sure, why not.”

True to his word, Keith started rubbing Shiro’s forearm and shoulder. It would have been really nice if it wasn’t for the sharp echoes of pain; then again, at least it explained the nightmare.

“Do you often have dreams about your accident?” Keith asked, as if he could sense Shiro’s thoughts.

Shiro shook his head.

“No. I don’t really remember it. The moment I was hit, I blacked out. Gotta be grateful for the small blessings, right? They say I hit my head pretty hard, even the helmet broke. That’s how I got the scar. It saved my life, though. But I don’t remember — not the helmet breaking, not the car wheel squashing my arm, nothing.”

Keith kept rubbing Shiro’s bicep, and Shiro kept talking.

“It was early November, it was late at night and it was chilly… I was riding my bike, I stopped at a red light… and then I woke up at the hospital. One of the doctors made a joke that my arm was so broken it would have been easier to cut it off and attach a prosthetic. They gave me something for the pain, so it’s all fuzzy… I didn’t feel anything, my head was spinning. There were at least three doctors, I think? I don’t know if it’s a lot, or it’s a regular amount. I remember a man in the waiting room, another man from another accident, he was all covered in blood, and he was asking for water. There weren’t any. I don’t know who he was, if he made it. They had to put me down to fix my bones, and they asked me to count from ten to one. I remember eight, don’t remember seven. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a room, alone, it was dark… quiet. The first thing I did was to throw up, and then I passed out again.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said quietly, a few moments after Shiro stopped.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Shiro said. “For a traffic accident, I got off easy — a scratch on my face and a sore arm. I got lucky. You know, they say it’s not the trauma itself that gives you PTSD, it’s what comes after. My recovery… went as smooth as it could, I guess. I was stuck in the hospital for a month, but pretty much everyone came to visit. Matt, the Holts, they visited twice. Adam. Even my father showed up.”

Keith paused.

“Adam? The… man who lived here… before I moved in? I thought you two weren’t… friends.”

“We weren’t.”

Clenching and unclenching his fist, Shiro lifted his hand up in the air. The numb feeling faded; his arm didn’t hurt anymore.

Shiro sat up and smiled.

“I think that’s enough sob stories for one morning,” he said. “Thanks for the massage. Now, how about breakfast? I’m in the mood for oatmeal.”

“What?” seemingly having been lost in his own thoughts, Keith blinked back to reality. “Don’t you hate oatmeal?”

“Not if it’s fresh and topped with fruits and honey. In fact, I believe I can grow to love that kind of oatmeal.” Shiro paused, then dared to add, “ _ your _ kind of oatmeal.”

Keith raised his eyebrows.

“Do you have fruits and honey? Because I don’t.”

“Honey, I have everything,” Shiro promised with a smile. Still, he couldn’t help but stretch and yawn. “Ugh, I’m still half asleep…”

“Go take a shower,” Keith said. “It’ll help wake you up. I’ll make us coffee… and oatmeal.”

“Yes, sir!” Shiro saluted Keith playfully. “It’s nice to see you take charge.”

Keith seemed to be amused by that. Using his chance to leave on a positive, non-awkward note, Shiro grabbed a fresh T-shirt out of a drawer and marched out of the room.

####  ***

Oatmeal was alright. Seasoned with honey and topped with kiwi, bananas, and raspberries, it tasted sweet with a hint of savory.

Keith — he’d finished his oatmeal faster than Shiro — stood in front of the kitchen window, wearing a loose T-shirt, with a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked relaxed, taking small sips of his drink and squinting against the morning light coming through the glass. The sky was clear and uncharacteristically bright for November, or maybe it was just Shiro’s perception — everything looked brighter when Keith smiled, that quiet little smile of genuine content.

It was 10 AM.

“How’s your cold, by the way?” Shiro asked.

“Weird, I don’t feel sick at all,” glancing at him over the shoulder, Keith grinned. “Must be that Tylenol of yours. I never thought that meds could be that effective.”

“What do you normally take for a cold?”

“Nothing. I just wait for it to pass.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Why are you still surprised? You’ve seen how I live.”

Shiro shook his head. Keith squinted against the morning sun again, his gray eyes tinted yellow by the light, his lips flushed and glossy from the coffee.

Shiro could no longer live in denial.

“Keith.”

“Yeah?”

Clutching a spoon in his grasp tightly for grounding, Shiro asked, “Do you want to… go… somewhere, sometime?”

“…where?”

“Anywhere. Just, in general.”

“Like, eventually? Yes. It’s inevitable that I move, unless I drop dead in the next five minutes,” Keith chuckled. “Why? Do you have a specific destination in mind?”

“No, nothing specific… just that, maybe, we could go together. Somewhere. Sometime. You know, like… out… uh, outside.”

“What, like in the park, or a shopping trip?”

“Uh…” Shiro swallowed. His rush of bravery was fading away, all bravado evaporating rapidly under Keith’s gaze. “Y-yeah, sure. A shopping trip sounds… fun. We could buy something for your place, like… furniture. You could use a second chair, or a clothing rack for your winter clothes.”

Keith sighed.

“Man, I was saving up for a new memory module for Red… but I guess I can’t expect you to keep coming over if I don’t provide basic accommodations. You’re right. I have to buy a chair for you, and you have to be present — since it’ll be your chair, I want to be certain you like it.”

“Wait,  _ my  _ chair? Don’t you plan on having any other guests, like, ever?”

“Have you seen a ton of visitors crowding on my doorstep?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“You mean, other than the uncle you ran away from? No, but I don’t want to assume,” Shiro shrugged. “You have friends. They could come over eventually.”

“Hunk and Shay live in Florida, remember? Lance and Allura study medicine, they barely have the time to be online, much less hang out in real life. Pidge is the only one who’s free and lives nearby — and it would be awkward and weird to invite her over all alone, without the others.”

“I guess…”

“And that’s about it for my friend list. My ex was the only person in college I could consider a friend, and it’s clearly not an option anymore. I don’t have any friends from high school, or any coworkers I want to see outside the store.”

Frowning in contemplation, Shiro remembered Matt Holt. They were in the same class since middle school, and they had been friends in high school, but they drifted apart when Shiro went to college while Matt joined the family business; finally, when Shiro realized he had nowhere to go as an English major — yes, it was a stupid choice of degree, but he was young and irresponsible back then — Shiro started working for the Holts as well.

Nowadays… him and Matt hardly ever met outside the workshop.

It was an unpleasant realization to arrive at; nevertheless, it was the truth.

Keith was the closest friend Shiro had at the moment, and now that Shiro understood he was into Keith romantically, it opened a whole new can of worms.

Was he  _ really  _ into Keith, or was he just riding the high of intimacy forced upon them by the circumstances? Did they really form a connection, an honest friendship that Shiro was ruining with his dirty thoughts? Was he so stuck in his ways he couldn’t understand platonic affection when it was shoved right into his face?

He had no answer for any of those questions, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

There was only one thing Shiro knew for certain: he had never felt this way before, so light-headed and sparkling with all kinds of desires, like an exposed electric wire, like he could share anything and get complete honesty in response; an odd sort of liberation, falling free into the unknown, hand in hand with a man he was desperate to trust, and — for once — the hand wasn’t trying to yank itself free at the slightest inconvenience.

No, Shiro had never felt like that, not with any of his exes, and certainly not with any of his friends or coworkers.

“I see your point,” Shiro said.

“See, so you’re pretty much the only welcome visitor I get,” Keith concluded. “I might as well consider the chair yours.”

Shiro smiled.

“Thanks, I guess. But, you know, I’m in no hurry. You don’t have to give up any plans for my sake. Our shopping trip… it doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow. Just… sometime.”

“The sooner, the better,” Keith said, resolute. “Would the next weekend work for you?”

“Sure. Yeah. Just say when, I’ll find the time.”

“Saturday noon.”

“Works for me.”

“Then it’s a date,” Keith smirked.

Before Shiro could choke on his coffee in surprise, Keith approached him, set his empty mug on the table…

…and high-fived Shiro’s awkwardly raised limp hand.

“See you around, bro,” Keith said, cheerfully nonchalant.

Then he just. Left the kitchen. And the apartment, judging by the sound of the front door opening and closing. He didn’t even put his clothes on. Again.

Shiro stared at his own palm, wide-eyed, in complete bewilderment.

What even… was that?

Date…?

Bro…?


	7. Life is Change

####  ***

Monday morning, Shiro got called to the workshop early; he texted Keith he couldn’t meet for breakfast, and went straight to work.

“Some rookie street racers had a party, apparently,” Matt explained when Shiro got there. “We’ve got three Harleys to fix. Are you up for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Shiro replied.

He expected Matt to make a crack at him teasing Shiro for looking scruffy, or to start oversharing about what’s-her-name of the month; except, for once, Matt kept to himself, working quietly on one of the vehicles.

In fact, as they worked, Matt didn’t hum any catchy tunes, didn’t mutter under his breath, didn’t so much as smile.

Shiro stopped examining the bike in front of him, and straightened up.

“Hey, Matt, is everything alright? You seem down.”

“What?” Matt glanced at him, eyes glossy and distant, deep shadows set into his face, like he spent the night hurtling boulders instead of sleeping. “Oh… yeah. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

Clearly, he was lying through his teeth.

“Like hell you are,” Shiro wiped his hands, stepping away from the bike for good. “You won’t say two words to me, and you look exhausted — have you had any sleep at all? When you party through the night, you might have a hangover in the morning, but at least you’re sociable. What’s going on, man? Talk to me.”

“You want to talk?” Matt chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head. “Maybe I should check the sky for a flock of flying pigs.”

At least he stopped fiddling with the car, closing down the hood and sitting on top of it.

“Come on,” Shiro approached the car and leaned on the hood next to Matt. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“A shitstorm,” Matt shrugged. He licked his lips, nervous, as he seemed to hesitate; then his eyes lit up suddenly. “Tell you what! Hey — fuck it, right? Let’s close up shop, grab a beer and hang out, like we used to.”

Shiro grinned.

“Your dad might fire me if he finds out. Remember the last time he caught us slacking off?”

“I wish I didn’t! He yelled like we set fire to the place, instead of leaving it unattended for an hour… it’s not like we left the door open!”

“Your old man can be terrifying.”

“Eh, well, it was ages ago. Like, two years, more? Whatever. They have Katie to yell at for teenage rebellion nowadays.” Matt winced, then he bumped Shiro in the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, my dad’s not going to fire a guy in your position, he’s not a monster. As for me… what gives? I’m already in trouble. We might as well get a breath of fresh air.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I’ll tell you all about, I promise.”

Shiro sighed. It was a bad idea, but… Matt was a friend, and he obviously needed help.

“Okay, let’s take a short walk. We can call it an early lunch break.”

 

####  ***

They ended up going to the nearest fast food joint.

“So what’s your deal?” Shiro asked when they settled at one of the outside tables. It was definitely too cold and windy for an outdoors lunch, but Shiro wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get too comfortable resulting in too much time away from the workshop. Besides, the morning was clear and sunny, and Matt wanted fresh air, didn’t he? “Come on, out with it.”

Matt took a sip of the milkshake he’d ordered.

“Eugh, I should have bought coffee,” he concluded immediately. Hunching up, he pulled on his collar to shield his neck from the wind. “Anyway… there’s not much to tell. Basically, I’m an idiot. Remember Nyma?”

“Who? Oh, wait, yeah — your girlfriend.”

“Not anymore!” Matt chirped in a fake cheery tone, then slumped again with a sigh. “We broke up… I think. Yesterday. She dumped me. Literally.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t much of a surprise, considering most of Matt’s relationships ended in mild-to-extreme heartbreak within a month. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Yeah, you don’t know the half of it.”

They ate a few fries in silence, Shiro patiently waiting for Matt to speak when he was ready.

“She stole my car,” Matt said finally.

Okay,  _ that  _ was a surprise.

“What?”

“My car. You know, my vintage baby-blue cadillac? The one I’ve been working on restoring for two years?” Matt sighed again. “Yesterday, I took Nyma for a test drive. Her phone rang. She said it was her brother Rolo, that it was an emergency… someone hit their dog, and the poor thing needed a vet. Of course I believed her and drove where she told me to! Some bridge on the way out of the city. God, I’m an idiot. That ‘brother’ of hers — she kissed him. Like, on the lips. I don’t think they’re related… at least, I hope not? Anyway. They pushed me off that freaking bridge, and Nyma flipped me off as they drove away. There wasn’t even a dog. I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Matt…” Shiro frowned. “This is serious. Have you called the police?”

“And tell them what? The car wasn’t registered, you know. I was breaking the law by driving it through the city.”

“Still…”

“I can’t do that to Nyma, man. Yes, I know, she’s a criminal! Her brother has a gun, he threatened me. They assaulted me, like, they’re actual criminals, and not even siblings. All this time, she was lying to me. Nyma lied to me, and maybe she didn’t even love me…”

“ _ Maybe? _ ”

Matt grinned.

“She kissed me before they threw me in the gutter.”

“Holy—” Shiro bit his tongue. “You are hopeless. Seriously, man, are you out of your mind? What if they use your car to do more crimes? What if they kill someone and pin it on you?”

“I haven’t thought about that,” Matt frowned. “I… I don’t know. I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

“She lied to you, she stole your car, and she had you on gunpoint!”

“Yeah, but she didn’t actually  _ say  _ she was breaking up with me. She could call me later and explain it was all a prank, you know, just… a practical joke. Maybe she’s trying to teach me a lesson about reckless driving, or something.”

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I give up. Promise me one thing, Matt: up until December, you won’t spend an hour of your day unmonitored. If you don’t want to call the police, at least make sure you have an alibi when the police comes calling for you. Okay?”

“Why would I need an alibi?”

“They stole your car, Matt. They might use it for something… nefarious. It might be their getaway vehicle for an armed robbery, or they can use it to dispose of a dead body — sink it, burn it, you get the picture.”

“Dude, what? My Nyma’s not a killer.”

“Matt, please, just listen to me for once!”

“Fine, jeez. I’ll report the car as stolen. No need to start yelling,” Matt shrugged carelessly, taking another sip of his milkshake. “Ugh… this freaking wind is killing me. I’m frozen to the bone.”

“Here,” Shiro took off his scarf and wrapped it around Matt’s neck. “Eat faster, and let’s go back to the workshop. Have you told your family about what happened yet?”

“No. Saving the best for last, right? I’ll have to tell dad eventually, when he asks me about the car, but…” Matt trailed off suddenly, looking over Shiro’s shoulder. Just as Shiro was going to turn around, Matt grabbed him by the wrist. “Don’t look back. There’s a guy on the corner who keeps staring at us. He doesn’t look friendly.”

“What?” Shiro frowned. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you.”

“No, he’s right there. Look if you want, but turn around slowly. Don’t let him know we’ve spotted him.”

Slowly, Shiro turned around.

“Matt, you jerk,” he laughed, immediately recognizing the person on the corner. “Don’t scare me like that. That’s my neighbor. Keith! Hey, Keith!”

Shiro waved, calling out for Keith to come over. Keith seemed to hesitate, but walked towards them eventually. Dressed in all black, scowling and squinting against the sun, he looked somewhat suspicious indeed; after yesterday’s adventure, no wonder Matt freaked out.

“Hi there,” Shiro smiled as Keith approached them, to set everyone at ease. “Taking a stroll?”

“Uh, hey,” Keith said quietly. “What’s up, Shiro? I thought you were supposed to be at work.”

“We’re taking an early lunch break,” Shiro smiled. “Fries?”

“No, thank you,” Keith looked at Matt. “So, I take it this is Matt.”

“Matthew Holt. Hi,” Matt wiped a bit of ketchup from his cheek, and saluted Keith with a crumpled napkin. “So you’re the workout partner Shiro’s been telling me about. Huh, now that I think about, Shiro — you’ve never mentioned his name.”

“What does he call me?” Keith asked.

“Why, he calls you his sexy sugar plum,” Matt said. Shiro elbowed him slightly in alarm, and Matt laughed. “Kidding! I’m kidding. He doesn’t call you anything but his neighbor. Not in front of me, anyway.”

“Dude, come on, we’re not in high school anymore.” Shiro groaned. “Keith, I’m sorry. Don’t listen to him, he’s making it up. I have never called you a sugar plum in my life.”

Keith’s glare softened a little.

“It’s fine. You can call me whatever pet names you like.”

“No, really—”

“Shiro, it’s fine,” Keith put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro swallowed all his protests, lowering his gaze in silent prayer for mercy. The last thing he needed was to lose control and kiss Keith in the windy fast food lot with other people watching. Keith smiled. “Listen, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m late for work. Stop by for dinner tonight, okay? There’s a recipe I want you to teach me — we have to try it out.”

“Uh, sure. Should I bring anything?”

“That’s alright, I’ve got it covered.”

Shiro glanced up, allowing himself to smile back at Keith. “Okay. See you tonight, then.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Keith nodded. He took a step back, letting his hand fall off Shiro’s shoulder; a gust of cold wind made Shiro shiver at the loss of warmth.

“It was nice to meet you, Matt,” Keith said. “Good day.”

“Likewise!”

Matt waved after Keith, as Keith walked away quickly blending in with the passerby crowd.

“Dude,” Matt whispered as soon as Keith was out of sight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Shiro ate the last of his fries and reached for his coffee.

“That you were dating!”

Shiro spit the coffee right back into the paper cup.

“There, there,” Matt patted his back. “Take it easy. There is no shame in finally getting out of your postpartum mourning period. Although, I’ll admit, I’m a little mad you’ve been keeping your new boyfriend a secret.”

“What are you on about?” Shiro pushed Matt’s hands away. He decided to ignore the dubious ‘postpartum’ joke in favor of rebuking the most important misconception. “Keith and I aren’t dating. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Huh? He literally just asked you out, and you said yes.”

“What? You mean, for dinner? It’s not a date. It’s just our thing, you know, a thing that we do. We have breakfast together, and sometimes other meals too. I’m teaching him how to cook, and he gives me exclusive previews of his videos in exchange.”

“Uh-huh.” Matt quirked an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “And the fact that he glared at me like he was about to rip my head off?”

“He obviously thought your ‘sugar plum’ joke was stupid.”

“Nope. He obviously thought you were seeing another guy, and got jealous. Like, he was five seconds away from slapping you to the Moon and back, and storming off.”

“That’s domestic violence, Matt. Keith would never do that.”

“Aha! So you are a couple.”

“No!” Shiro massaged his temples. “Look, if you must know… I  _ tried  _ asking him out. Okay? It didn’t work. He just… high-fived me and called me ‘bro’. Just the other night, he stayed at my place — long story, don’t ask — the thing is, he only agreed to share the bed with me on one condition: no touching.”

“Really? He was all over you five minutes ago.”

“That’s… different. People shake hands all the time.”

“You didn’t ‘shake hands’. He grabbed you by the neck and leaned in like he was going to kiss you.”

“What? No, he just put a hand on my shoulder.”

“Good god. And you call  _ me  _ hopeless,” Matt shook his head. “Do me a favor: when your not-boyfriend gets on one knee and offers you a  _ friendship  _ ring — say yes.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Finish your shake, and let’s head back to the workshop before your father catches wind of what’s going on. And give me back my scarf! You don’t deserve it after all your vicious mockery.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want your not-boyfriend getting jealous again.”

“You know what? I’m not taking relationship advice from someone whose girlfriend pushed him off a bridge.”

“That fall was less painful than watching your love life.”

Shiro threw the empty coffee cup in the trash bin and headed to the parking lot without another word.

 

####  ***

Of course, Matt was wrong. Nothing happened during dinner, just as Shiro had assumed it would (not); Keith braved making katsudon, and yes, maybe when he asked Shiro to stand behind him and stir the sauce as Keith added the ingredients into the frying pan, it wasn’t strictly necessary… or particularly efficient… but it wasn’t too weird, was it? They were just cooking dinner together.

The fact that Shiro could rest his chin on Keith’s shoulder to see the frying pan was completely normal, too.

Well… maybe… the tiniest bit better than normal.

 

####  ***

On Thursday, the galaxy painting was finished.

A canvas of black with a tint of purple stretched across the wall, covering it whole, and dots of vibrant glowing white spiraled from the center of the canvas to its every edge — sprinkles of cosmic dust, a swirl of little stars dancing their stellar waltz.

“It’s beautiful,” Keith said. He stood next to Shiro, the two of them staring at the wall like it was a window to the universe. “So… are you one hundred percent positive it’s done?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “I think I’ve done everything I can. Adding any further details would be excessive, it’ll ruin the picture.”

“I see. Well, it really is quite beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. But remember, it’s for special occasions only. You shouldn’t turn the black lights on too often — UV-A is safe in small doses, mostly, but all ultraviolet light is radiation.”

“Come on. Radiation, really? What’s next, abandon electricity in favor of all-organic gluten-free bioluminescent mushrooms?”

“Keith… Safety first.”

“Fine! I promise I’ll be careful.”

They looked at the wall again.

“Feels like magic, doesn’t it?” Shiro asked quietly. “Say what you will, I’ll never get tired of small everyday wonders like this one.”

“As everyday as a sunset?” they exchanged knowing glances. Keith smiled. “Besides, I wouldn’t call it small. You’ve worked for weeks to finish it.”

“Not every day.”

“Hah! I should be so lucky,” Keith said cryptically, then hesitated. “So, um… what now? With the wall finally done, what happens next?”

“Well…” Shiro licked his lips, nervous to bring it up. “We have that shopping trip planned, right? Buying furniture and stuff.”

“Right. And then… after we do that… we still have our breakfast thing, right? You’ll still be coming over, or inviting me over. We can still… see each other. You’re done with the project, not with me.”

“Yes, of course. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Maybe.”

“Keith… I would never disappear on you like that.”

“Never? So you’re not going to desert me, or let me down?” Keith’s little grin turned sly. “How about hurting me or making me cry?”

“Only tears of joys,” Shiro promised.

Keith laughed.

“Man, you truly are something else,” he patted Shiro’s shoulder. “Never give that up.”

“What, my arm? I’d hate to lose it too.”

As Shiro made the joke, Keith laughed again; probably because he was already in a good mood, rather than due to Shiro’s less-than-elaborate humor. Still, it warmed Shiro’s heart and made him swell with pride.

“So, the Saturday plan is on?” he asked, and Keith nodded in response.

“You bet.”

 

####  ***

Finally, it was Saturday.

Shiro put on a white button-up, a light black sweater, fitting jeans, combat boots, and finally — a leather jacket to top it off; he combed his hair, then decided against it and ruffled it all back up.

Looking in the mirror, he sighed. Was it too much? It’s not like they were going out on an actual date. Still, they  _ were  _ going out, and he wanted to look good… of course, Keith had already seen him in all sorts of unimpressive states, but still…

“He doesn’t care how things look,” Shiro reminded himself. It wasn’t particularly reassuring. “It doesn’t matter. Everything will be fine.”

He briefly considered wearing a scarf as a finishing touch, but decided against it. Keith had seen Shiro offering that scarf to Matt; it was best not to remind him of the incident. In fact, Shiro should probably hide the offensive garment in the farthest corner of the closet, or donate it to charity.

 

####  ***

Keith was waiting outside, in the parking lot next to Shiro’s bike. He didn’t say anything about Shiro’s outfit when Shiro approached.

“Hey. Ready?” Keith asked instead.

Shiro nodded. “Let’s roll.”

 

####  ***

At the store — Shiro’s choice, naturally — things didn’t start as bad as Shiro had anticipated. Keith didn’t look bored at all; as they went from display to display, Keith examined the items with mild interest, checking the surfaces and reading the tags.

It seemed like he was enjoying it, or at least he tried to.

The store was huge. They started with the living and study room displays; Keith looked at armchairs and sofas, and scowled — most of those were too big and bulky for his studio apartment, eating up space mercilessly.

“Maybe a kitchen chair would be better,” Shiro suggested.

They walked over to the kitchen displays. Those seemed to be more manageable; too manageable, perhaps — Keith couldn’t choose, so he made Shiro try every chair available, sitting him down and standing in front of him, hands on Shiro’s shoulders, and asking if Shiro ‘liked it’.

“Yes,” Shiro replied honestly every time.

Finally, Keith sighed.

“Okay, but which do you like the most? This one? That one? That first one with the red top?”

“They’re all fine,” Shiro said.

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that line on me,” Keith crossed his arms. “You’re the one who cares about colors, softness, and all that design crap.”

“I care about your comfort. Which one do  _ you  _ like?”

“None! I don’t like any of them.”

“Then don’t buy any of them. There is no reason to settle for something you don’t like — we have plenty of time. Let’s keep looking until we find something to your taste.”

Keith sighed.

“Actually, I hate most chairs, especially hard ones, like metal or wooden. I always stumble into them and get bruises.”

“Then let’s go back to the living displays and look for a bean bag chair, or some sitting pillows.”

“Aren’t they bad for your posture?”

“Not that bad,” Shiro smiled. “Come on. Let’s explore what’s out there.”

They wandered the store some more. For a few minutes, Shiro got distracted by a bathroom display — they had little animal decor things in there, outrageously cute, and if Keith didn’t tug on his sleeve to tow him away, Shiro would have ended up buying a soap holder with tiny lions suspended in the gel at the bottom.

Finally, they circled back to the living section near the entrance.

Shiro was just about to point a decent-looking red bean bag chair to Keith when he spotted a familiar figure entering the store. It took him a few moments to recognize the person, but then the guy spotted Shiro and smiled as he approached, and Shiro recognized his old neighbor right away.

“Hey, Adam,” Shiro smiled back, offering his hand. “Long time no see.”

“Hey yourself, neighbor,” Adam said, shaking Shiro’s hand. “How’s it going?”

“Ah… you know. This and that. How are you?”

“I’m great! Still setting up my new place,” Adam grinned, a little sheepish, his cheeks flushing. “Say what you will about suburbs, it’s great to have my own house. No crazy Russians in the attic, no sudden power outages, no sex noises coming through the walls… um. No offense.”

“None taken. We actually had the chance to soundproof that wall.”

“Oh, you and Curtis are back together?”

“God, no. The guy who rents your old apartment has asked for my help,” Shiro turned around to introduce Keith to Adam, only Keith was nowhere in sight. “Uh… he was there just a moment ago. He must have spotted a chair he liked. That’s why we’re here — he asked me to help him choose a new chair.”

“He seems to ask for your help a lot,” Adam smiled.

Embarrassed, Shiro rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hah, well, you know me. Always willing to help a man in need… Hey, by the way, how’s your college job going? Are you still teaching?”

Adam nodded. “I’m a regular now. There was a complication, but I worked it out. That’s why I need a new bookcase, actually — there’s a lot more books in my life these days.”

“Good luck with that,” Shiro patted Adam on the shoulder. “Well, I should go find my neighbor before he gets too lost. I’m his ride, we shouldn’t separate for long.”

“Of course. It was good to see you, man. Take care.”

“You too.”

Shiro shook Adam’s hand goodbye, and walked away.

 

####  ***

He found Keith in the bathroom display; Keith was squatting in the shower cabin, holding a lion-decorated soap holder directly in front of his face.

Shiro giggled.

“What are you doing? Keith, are you… hiding?”

“Is he gone?” Keith whispered, so quiet Shiro barely made his words out amidst the noise of the busy store. “Did he leave?”

“Who, Adam?” Shiro frowned. “He’s in the study section, looking for a bookshelf or something. Why? Is there a problem?”

Keith peeked out from under the soap holder.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, why would I be?” Shiro reached out, offering his hand to Keith. “Come on, let me help you get up.”

With a sigh, Keith set the soap holder aside, and Shiro helped him crawl out of the shower cabin; Keith kept holding onto Shiro’s hand even after his feet were firmly on the floor.

“Hey, what is it?” Shiro put his free hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You could say that…”

Shiro hugged Keith, holding him close.

“It’s okay. We can go home right now, if you want. You don’t have to explain anything.”

“But I do,” Keith straightened up suddenly, squirming out of Shiro’s embrace. “I can’t keep lying to you, Shiro. I have to tell you the truth.”

Shiro looked around. There were other shoppers walking by, giving them odd glances; no wonder. Keith was pale and shaken, clearly unwell.

They had to get out of here.

“Let’s find some privacy first, okay?”

He tried taking Keith’s hand to guide him away from the display, but Keith slipped out of his grasp with catlike grace.

“No. If he’s out there, I can’t walk out.”

“He? Wait… you mean… Adam?” Shiro frowned. “I thought you got a text from your parents or your boss. What does Adam have to do with anything? Do you know each other? Like, did he come back to the apartment to look for something he’d left there, and you threatened him with your knife, or what?”

“Shiro…” Keith paused, bit his lip before taking a breath. “He’s my ex.”

Shiro blinked.

“What?”

“I told you there was a guy back at college. Well… it was him. Adam.”

“A  _ teacher _ ?”

“A  _ history  _ teacher. I’m a computer science major, so he didn’t teach any of my classes. We weren’t even dating for real, like, going out and making plans for the future. It was just an affair. He invited me over a whole of three times in the six months we’d been ‘together’ — that’s it. We talked about the historical accuracy of the Assassin’s Creed games, and he made me toast for breakfast, and I was just happy to have someone… something… it wasn’t much, but it was more than I had ever had before, and I was happy.”

“Okay. So you broke up when they offered him a regular position as a professor?”

“He broke up with me when I said I was in love with him.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Shiro didn’t know what to say, or to think, for that matter. “So… are you still…”

“No, of course not. I probably wasn’t even back then either,” Keith winced. “He was kind to me, and I latched onto that. So when he told me it was over… I reacted badly. The things I said… what I did… I regret it very much, and I don’t blame Adam for cutting ties with me and moving out.”

Shiro suddenly remembered the scratches on the wall in Keith’s apartment. Adam’s apartment.

“Keith… why did you move into that apartment?”

“See, you think it’s creepy,” Keith sighed bitterly. “Now imagine what Adam would think if he saw me with you. He’s going to think I’m stalking him.”

“And… are you? Because you haven’t answered my question, and to be honest, I’m starting to freak out.”

The knife. The fact that he knew one of the Holts, or that one of his friends knew about Shiro’s old videos. The fact he just happened to walk nearby when Shiro and Matt went out for lunch. The dysfunctional family relationships — Keith’s short temper, his reckless stunts, lying to his uncle and lashing out when caught; the uncle’s reaction, the speech about ‘one mistake’ being enough.

“Keith, I need an answer.”

“No,” Keith looked him in the eyes, frowning. “I’m not stalking anyone.”

Shiro took a step back. Keith caught him by the wrists, pale, pleading.

“Please, Shiro, trust me! I swear it’s not what it looks like. Please, just listen to me, I’ll explain everything.”

Now the other shoppers were definitely looking at the unfolding scene. Shiro wondered if a security guard would come to escort them out of the store soon.

“Calm down,” he said. “We’re drawing too much attention. Adam might see us.”

“R-right.”

Letting go, Keith hunched up, as if trying to make himself smaller. His grip wasn’t too tight to begin with, and he looked more scared than angry, so Shiro decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hugged Keith gently, placing an arm over his shoulders to hide his face from the onlookers.

“Let’s go,” Shiro said.

Keith followed him obediently. Under the cover of bulky furniture displays, they reached the exit unobstructed.

 

####  ***

During the time it took them to get home — Keith clinging to Shiro with his hands wrapped around his waist — Shiro had all sorts of thoughts race through his head.

Finally, they reached their destination.

As Shiro parked the motorcycle, Keith stood close, shifting from foot to foot.

“Let’s go to the roof,” Shiro said. “I don’t think I can stand the sight of that goddamn wall right now.”

The roof, unshielded, was windy; it was colder than down on the street. The city view stretched out to the horizon, a frozen sea of stone, glass, metal, and lights. The sky already yellowed at the west — afternoon was slowly turning into early evening.

They stood near the maintenance shed, its shade serving as a sanctuary from the wind.

“You promised to explain everything,” Shiro said. “Talk. I’m listening.”

Keith jumped at the opportunity.

“Shiro, I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t tell you about Adam because I didn’t want to scare you away, and today — I could have kept pretending, but I didn’t. I told you the truth.”

“How can I believe you? You’ve been misleading me about the very reason you’re here!”

“I’m sorry! Listen, my reason — it’s not what you think it is. Apartment hunting is hard, okay? Finding a place you both like and can afford, it’s like finding a soulmate.”

“Am I supposed to believe that’s the only reason you’ve chosen your ex’s apartment? Because it’s cheap?”

“No. It’s also close to my workplace, and I know the neighborhood. I’ve chosen it because it’s cheap, convenient, and familiar, and also because I have happy memories tied to that place. I was happy here, if only for a few nights. It’s more than I can say for my mother’s house, or my uncle’s.”

“What were you hoping to achieve?”

“Nothing! I have no ulterior motive, I swear. I never wanted Adam to take me back. Ask him if you don’t believe me, ask him if I’ve ever tried to contact him after that night.”

“I’m not that close with Adam.”

“Well, neither am I! And I don’t want to be. Shiro, please… it was months ago, and it was a mistake. If it wasn’t for you, I would have probably moved out already.”

“Right. So there go all your reasons and explanations for choosing that apartment.”

“No, I mean…” Keith sighed. “You saw what that place had looked like before you intervened. You saw how I lived, how I treated my home… and myself. I didn’t… care, I didn’t love myself, I was just clinging to a memory… a fantasy of love that I never really felt. Without you there to ground me, my uncle would have already forced me to move in with him again. Even though I hate his house. I told you about the bookstore, right? His whole place is soundproofed. Sometimes it was so quiet there, I would scream just to hear something. Nobody ever came to check on me when I did that.”

“You told me,” Shiro frowned. “The first day we met, you said it was the first time anyone cared how loud you were screaming.”

“Yeah,” Keith smiled sadly. “It’s not like my uncle is a bad man, he never neglected me on purpose. He just didn’t hear me, and I didn’t know how to tell him what I needed… I didn’t even  _ know  _ what I needed.”

Shivering from the cold, Shiro looked at the faded-blue sky. The crescent moon was already visible, if faint.

“What do you need from me, Keith?” he asked. “Do you know that?”

“Maybe,” Keith said. “I know what I  _ want _ .”

Taking Shiro’s hand tentatively, Keith brought it up to his mouth to warm it with his breath. Shiro let him; for a minute, they stood like that, huffs of warmth — white, like smoke, ghostlike in the chilly air — caressing Shiro’s fingers, Keith looking him directly in the eyes.

Finally, Shiro freed his hand.

“Keith… look, I’m sorry. I’m not sure how I feel right now. If you’d asked me in the morning… I would have said yes to anything. Now… I don’t know.”

“But nothing has changed!”

“Yes, it has. You’ve been hiding important information from me, and honestly? I don’t know how to trust you anymore. What are you going to reveal next, that you have a secret brother who’s actually not your brother, and then you two will steal my bike and push me off a bridge?”

“…what?”

“It’s — nevermind. Long story. The problem is, I just don’t know what to expect from you anymore.”

“Shiro, I promise, I’m not hiding anything else. I’ve told you the truth—”

“And if we didn’t run into Adam at the store, how long would it have taken you to come clean?”

“I— I don’t know. Why does it matter? Why is my reason for moving into that damned apartment so important? It’s in the past. What matters is why I’m here now, right? And I’m here. I’m right here — for you, not for anyone else.”

“Not for yourself?”

Keith said nothing.

Shiro turned around to face the wall of the maintenance shed. It was cement gray, dull, and uninspiring; Shiro touched it, and it was slimy with condensation, ice-cold under his fingers. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, he slammed both palms into the wall.

The useless anger, the baseless fear he felt — why? Keith was right, nothing had really changed. So why did Shiro feel so angry, scared… betrayed?

Quiet, Keith stood next to him.

“I need time,” Shiro said. “Just… give me a few days to think about it, okay? I need to understand how it all fits together, to sort things through in my own head.”

“Okay,” Keith said, voice heavy. “I can wait. That’s all I ever do, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Turning to face Keith again, Shiro frowned.

“Finish what you’ve started. What did you mean by that?”

“Well, if you must know, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. I have been honest with you, except for this one thing, but you? You can’t be honest even with yourself. These last two months… you’ve been playing hot and cold, and I’m trying to be patient and understanding, but — I’m starting to wonder if you even like me, Shiro.”

“I do!”

“Then you’re being a hypocrite! First you say I don’t have to explain anything, that you’ll never turn your back on me — but when I tell you the truth, you’re angry with me. So what, should I have kept lying? I don’t understand. You’re upset because of my past, as if I’ve committed a crime. So I had a bad break-up, so what?  _ You  _ don’t tell me every minor detail about  _ your  _ exes.”

“I don’t think moving into your ex’s apartment is a minor detail. It’s not a crime, but it  _ is  _ kind of a big deal,” Shiro paused, struggling to come up with an coherent explanation. “It’s like… moving in with a ghost.”

Keith recoiled.

“Excuse me?  _ You  _ keep an engagement ring under your pillow!”

“That’s different. I can hide the ring in the drawer and forget about it… you can’t forget where you live.”

“Really,” Keith crossed his arms. “So what, do you want me to move out? Is that what you want?”

“I— no. I don’t know,” Shiro ran his hand through his hair. “Let me just think it over, okay? Please, Keith, I need a time-out.”

“Fine. You can have all the time in the world,” with a sigh, Keith lowered his hands, somewhat relaxing his tense stance. “I know how to be patient. Take as long as you need. Just… don’t blame my past for your indecisiveness, okay? I have no more secrets left.”

More than anything, Shiro wanted to say something — but he had no words to put his feelings into, because he didn’t know what he was feeling. There was an ache deep in his chest, his heart beating fast and heavy, a tightness in his throat like a barricade holding back unshed tears; he wanted to hold Keith then and there, to kiss him, yet he also wanted to shut him out, just for it to stop hurting.

A gust of wind spilled across the roof, howling amongst the nooks of the old building.

Hunching up from the cold, Keith turned towards the exit to the stairway. Shiro swallowed the lump in his throat and called after him.

“Keith.”

“Yes?” Keith paused, his hand already on the door handle, glancing at Shiro over the shoulder.

“Is it real?” Shiro asked. “You and I, what we have… I’ve admitted that I like you. Do you? I mean… do you actually like me, or is it all pretense?”

Keith looked at him, incredulous.

“How can you ask me that?”

“That’s not an answer,” Shiro said.

“Unbelievable,” Keith shook his head. “Tell me, then, what would I gain from such a play? What’s my end goal in this scenario?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you just like toying with people.”

“You think  _ I’m  _ toying with  _ you _ ?”

“Well, you like games, or putting on a show for an audience. You always say you love a clever twist ending… that being fooled is the most entertaining experience.”

“Oh, clearly! Yes, I am a fool… for buying your selfless hero act, if nothing else,” Keith scoffed. “You know what? Maybe we both need a time-out to think things through. Goodbye, Shiro.”

Keith left before Shiro could stop him.


	8. Ace A-Mourning

####  ***

They didn’t see each other for a week.

It was torture.

Waking up every morning at 7 AM was a matter of habit; so was making breakfast for two. True to his word, Keith stopped showing up, and Shiro was too much of a coward to extend him an invitation.

Finally, on Saturday, with yet another pile of pancakes too mountainous for one person to handle on his plate, Shiro couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come over,” Shiro texted Keith. Then, a minute of silence later, he added, “please?”

There was no reply. Fifteen minutes of fiddling with his phone and anticipating a reply later, Shiro realized he wouldn’t be graced with one. He stood up, shoved his phone into a pocket, and walked out of the apartment.

He knocked on the “4D” door, expecting Keith to answer — not right away, perhaps, but answer nevertheless, if only to tell Shiro to stop bothering him and go away.

Two minutes of silence later, Shiro realized that’s not going to happen either.

He checked his phone for the time. 9:50 AM.

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Shiro muttered to himself.

“What’s that? Looking for someone, eh?”

Startled, Shiro swung around. It was their odd upstairs neighbor, Slav; apparently, the old professor had an early shopping run — he was walking up the stairs with bags full of stuff. Groceries and… was that a pack of condoms? Shiro looked away quickly.

“Hello, Slav,” he said. “Those bags look heavy. Why don’t you keep walking?”

“Why! That’s rather rude, young man.”

“What did you expect, that I would offer carrying your bags for you? Last time we spoke, you made it clear you wanted none of my help. Am I supposed to run headfirst into a wall over and over again?”

Stroking his patchy gray beard, Slav raised his fluffy unibrow.

“Walls can be problematic. Should I provide you with a siege ladder?”

“So I could get off your back?” Shiro snorted. By Slav’s confused expression, he realized the joke fell flat on the old professor; of course — he didn’t hang out with a gamer every day, so he didn’t understand the reference. And, being honest with himself, Shiro had to admit his current frustration had nothing to do with Slav. He was taking it out on the wrong neighbor. “Look… I’m sorry. I’m kind of in the middle of something. If you need help with your bags, I’ll carry them for you, just — let’s get this over with.”

“No, thank you,” Slav said dryly. God damn it. Naturally, he didn’t need any help — the spiteful old man was just messing with Shiro. Typical, just… typical. “Answer me this, young man: what are you doing? I’m positive that is not your door. Are you trying to break into our neighbor’s apartment?”

“I’m not breaking in. I just need to talk to the guy who lives there.”

“Ah… You’re out of luck, then. The young man’s not home — I ran into him on my way to the grocery store. He was in a hurry, from what I gathered, but he said something about staying at his mother’s house.”

“His mother? Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

Frowning, Shiro glanced at Keith’s door. Slav was probably telling the truth — he had no reason to lie, and at that point Keith would have probably peeked out to see what the commotion in the hallway was about, if he was home.

Unless Keith  _ was  _ home, only he didn’t want to see Shiro. In that case, he could have lied to Slav too.

Fuck. Curse that distrust. Shiro didn’t want to second-guess everything he knew about Keith; he wanted to believe Keith was simply visiting his mother for a couple of days while she was in town, and he wanted to rest easy knowing Keith would return. He wanted things to be simple again.

The way they left things off… it weighed on Shiro’s conscience. It was so, so wrong.

Shiro sighed.

“I really need to talk to him…”

“So call him. A phone call is harder to ignore — they’re designed that way.”

“Huh?” oh, right, Slav’s still there. “Wait, how do you know I even have his phone number?”

Scoffing, Slav shook his weird birdlike head.

“Youngsters. So self-absorbed. Did you honestly believe I wouldn’t notice your antics? Walking all over the roof — I live on the last floor, of course I can hear your every step! And the rest… climbing through the windows, screaming in the hallway… good god! I was half a mind to file a noise complaint to the landlord. You two are lucky I have a soft spot for young couples in love.”

“You… what?”

“The two of you are not subtle, that’s what. Don’t make me regret my lenience. Call your boyfriend and settle your dispute, whatever it is.”

“How do you— nevermind. I don’t want to know.” If Slav was a secret voyeur who spied on everyone in the building, Shiro preferred not to think about it; the less awareness, the sounder the sleep. “Actually, I have to go. Right now. Thanks for the tip, and, uh… enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Thank you, I intend to.”

The smirk on Slav’s face and the glaringly obvious extra large pack of condoms in his bag projected a mental image that Shiro wished he could un-imagine.

“Goodbye, Slav!”

He left in a hurry.

####  ***

Back home, Shiro put the pancakes he’d made earlier in the fridge. He had no appetite for eating alone, not right now; if anything, he felt apathetic.

The thought that Keith just left without a warning…

Shiro didn’t want to finish that thought.

To keep himself from spiraling and wallowing in self-pity, he opened a bottle of wine and started cleaning his apartment. He wiped every surface in the kitchen, had a glass of rosé, vacuumed the living room, sorted through the mess of crafting supplies on his workbench while sipping another glass, and cleaned the bathroom.

By the time Shiro reached the bedroom, it was well past noon, and his head was starting to spin a little. He ignored that. He aired out the closet. He did the laundry. He polished the mirror on the wall, making faces at himself in the process.

When Shiro finally reached the bed, he collapsed onto the soft welcoming surface, and didn’t want to move.

One of the pillows smelled like Keith’s shampoo.

Shiro hugged the pillow. It was cold to the touch, containing no real warmth — nothing but a faint memory of a person who used it for a night and discarded it the next morning.

Annoyed at his own thoughts — enough moping around — Shiro sat up straight and started taking off the bed linens. He gathered all the pillowcases and the sheet into a pile, and dumped it all in the laundry basket for the next load.

Just as he started vacuuming the floor under the bed, there was a loud noise.

Something clanked against the vacuum cleaner. Shiro turned it down. Using his phone as a flashlight, he leaned down to see what the object under his bed was… a glint of metal caught his eye.

It was Keith’s knife.

Frowning, Shiro reached for the knife to bring it out into the daylight. When did that get here? Why didn’t Keith notice his knife was missing? Unless… did Keith leave it here on purpose? What for?

Distracted by his racing thoughts — Keith leaning over the bed to hide the knife, Keith back in his bed, sprawling across, smirking, calling for Shiro to come closer — Shiro made a careless movement.

A flash of sharp pain was followed by a flow of red on his hands.

“Fuck!” Shiro hissed, dropping the knife.

He hurried to the bathroom to wash away the blood and inspect the damage. The injury was minor, a small cut on the inner side of the ring finger on his left hand, but it hurt and bled like a motherfucker.

Cussing through his teeth, Shiro frantically searched for the first aid kit. He found a bottle of peroxide and a clean bandage, and started taking care of the cut.

“Living alone sucks, huh?” he asked the reflection in his bathroom mirror.

The reflection looked back at him, pale and messy-haired, the ugly slug of the old scar stretched across its face. It looked disturbingly judgemental.

“Fuck you,” Shiro said. On an impulse, he slammed his injured hand into the mirror and smeared the blood all over the glass. It hurt. The pain and feeling of the cool surface sent shivers down Shiro’s spine. Breathing heavily, his heart pounding, he looked at his tainted reflection, drops of red distorting the image into something unrecognizable. “Why didn’t it take what it should have? What kind of sick, twisted bastard decided I get to keep living, just no longer myself? If it wasn’t for that damn accident…”

He trailed off. God… Was it really what he had become? A day-drinking psycho, smashing mirrors and talking to himself. A misanthropic hermit, too damaged to admit his own flaws, drowning his sorrows in wine and self-harm.

Repulsive.

Horrifying.

No wonder Keith was sleeping with a knife under his pillow.

No wonder Keith ran away.

Keith had been right, hadn’t he? The Adam thing was never the problem. Their issues had nothing to do with Keith’s past. The fact that Shiro’s mind jumped to the worst possible conclusions when Keith told him the truth — unsurprisingly — was caused by Shiro.

All this time, Shiro was the broken one.

The blood finally stopped. Ignoring the sticky red mess covering the mirror, Shiro treated the cut on his finger carefully, and bandaged it in silence.

When he walked out to the living room, he sat down on the couch and sighed heavily. Cradling his head in his hands, elbows digging into knees, Shiro stared into nothing, unable to focus.

It was time to face the truth.

Keith was right. Matt was right. Hell, even Curtis had been right when he’d said Shiro was the one punishing himself.

Shiro sabotaged his own relationships. He pushed everyone away.

It wasn't the fact that Keith had omitted the reasons for his choice of residence; it was the fact that Keith dared to admit there was something to hide, because — because their relationship wasn't a harmless little fantasy anymore. Keith was  _ interested _ in Shiro, he didn't want to scare Shiro off, and that was the problem. Because… as much as Shiro liked Keith… as much as he enjoyed everything so far… in its current tentative state — flirtation, a newborn romance — it couldn't last forever. This cautious dance, the two of them preening and trying to pretend they could be better than they were in reality.

Keith pretended his past didn't exist, and Shiro pretended his past didn't matter.

Except, looking in the mirror, Shiro was reminded every day of his mistakes. Every day, looking in the mirror when he shaved, he closed his eyes and ignored the monster on the other side of the glass.

The thing about monsters? They can be slain, but never contained.

A relationship based on pretense couldn’t survive.

Shiro wanted Keith — or the carefully crafted facade Keith was offering, an earnest, focused, passionate young man with a goal; Shiro wanted to offer him the same courtesy, wear the mask of a good-natured, patient man who knew what he wanted in life.

Unfortunately, Shiro's mask shattered to pieces the moment Keith's mask cracked.

Letting Keith in, letting him know — possibly love — the real Takashi Shirogane… it was terrifying. Not the cheerful, charming, responsible man who was always ready and willing to help; the fucked-up, desperate, destructive man who struggled with just about everything, most of all controlling himself.

Just like Curtis, Keith was going to see through his lies eventually, and then…

Countless times Shiro had promised himself the fateful traffic accident wasn’t his fault. He had been sober, he was wearing a helmet, he stayed in his lane.

It wasn’t the whole truth.

That night, he was careless. He was speeding up. Curtis had called him saying they needed to talk, and Shiro rushed home because he knew what Curtis was going to say, and Shiro wanted to talk him out of it. Curtis wanted to leave, and Shiro’s recklessness trapped him in a crumbling, unhappy relationship for another month, making Curtis look like the bad guy in the end.

No matter how many times Shiro promised himself that he didn’t do it on purpose — he couldn’t be certain.

And now… with Keith… Shiro did the same thing, didn’t he? He blamed Keith for his own failings; maybe because he saw glimpses of himself in Keith, and maybe it was easier to push him away rather than deal with all their truths.

Closing his eyes, Shiro took a deep breath, then he opened his eyes and straightened up. No more doubts; no more regrets.

Keith deserved better.

Time to clear things up.

####  ***

It took seven long beeps before Keith finally answered the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Shiro echoed back. “Can we talk?”

“I’m listening.”

“No, I mean… face to face.”

“Shiro… I don’t know. Right now, I’m at my mother’s house. She’s just got back home today… we’re supposed to have dinner with uncle Kolivan tonight.”

“I thought your family didn’t do family meals.”

“Normally, we don’t. Tonight… it was my idea.”

“Oh.”

“I’m actually cooking katsudon. I think I’ve got the hang of it. It’s simple, but it tastes good. I really liked it the way you and I made it last time.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah. Thanks for showing me the ropes.”

“I guess I’ve served my purpose, then.”

“Shiro…” Keith sighed. “Don’t do this, please. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Keith… please, can we just talk? After your family dinner, or… whenever. I just want to see you again, to know… it can't be the last time. I— I miss you.”

There was a brief moment of nothing — a dreadful sort of silence, so quiet Shiro’s vision went blank in fear he lost the call — but then, Keith let out a breath.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Shiro perked up. “Okay, so when? Will you be back tomorrow?”

“No. Tonight, come for dinner.”

Shiro blinked.

“Wait. You mean… to your mother’s house?”

“Yeah. I’ll text you the address. It’s a bit far, but you can make it. Unless, of course, you’re afraid it’s all a ploy for me to  _ steal your bike _ by  _ pushing you off a bridge _ , or something.”

The tone of Keith’s voice was sarcastic, but a chill ran down Shiro’s spine. Come to think of it, the invitation sounded eerily similar to the start of Matt’s story — a romantic partner asking him to visit a family member.

Shiro smirked. Right now, even if it wasn’t the paranoia talking… for a chance to fix things with Keith… he would jump off a bridge himself if he had to.

“Okay, I’ll do it. Send me the address. I’ll be there.”

Keith made a soft noise of surprise. “Really?”

“Yes,” Shiro said. “You want me there — I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Keith paused, then added softly, with a smile in his voice, “Thanks.”

Shiro nodded.

“See you tonight.”

Only when they said their goodbyes and Shiro hung up the phone, he remembered he had forgotten to mention the knife.

Oh well. He’d just bring it along to hand the thing over.

####  ***

The phone assured it was only 19:30 PM, but going from the surroundings, Shiro would have assumed it was the middle of the night.

The suburb was clean, lit with regularly placed yellow street lights, and eerily quiet.

Shiro had never been to this part of the city before; going down the sidewalk was giving him the creeps. All the horror movie clichés were coming to mind, and the bandage-wrapped knife in his pocket only made it all the weirder.

None of it felt real.

Still… step by step, he walked, and nothing happened. No strange monster jumped out of the sewer; no suspicious people stuffed him in a suspicious van.

Shiro reached the designated house.

Keith waited for him on the front porch, a lone figure amidst the island of warm orange light contrasting with the surrounding darkness and cold yellow street lamps flickering here and there. A beacon of life in the eerie nightmare.

Stable, welcoming, Keith smiled.

“Hey…” he looked Shiro up and down. “You seem a little out of breath. Wait, don’t tell me… you walked all the way here?”

“Ran, actually. But not all the way — public transit is a thing that exists.”

Keith shook his head in disbelief. “Do you  _ seriously _ think I'm a carjacker?”

“No,” Shiro said. “The truth is, I didn’t want to give myself the temptation… in case something went wrong.”

“So you’re tempted to run away?”

“I’m tempted to do a lot of things. Aren’t you?”

It wasn't a happy answer, and not nearly as suggestive at its core as it came off; Keith seemed to understand that. He studied Shiro for another moment.

“What happened to your hand?”

“This?” Shiro glanced at the bandage. “Just a scratch. I didn’t do it on purpose, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not that far gone.”

Keith nodded.

“Come on in. It's cold outside.”

####  ***

The kitchen Keith led Shiro into was big and well-lit. Those were about the only good things about it; minimalist design and empty white and silver surfaces could remind of an operating room if they were actually clean — but there was dust everywhere. In the end, the whole place looked more like an abandoned temple picked clean by looters and vultures.

There were two chrome bar stools next to the counter island in the center of the room. Keith gestured at one for Shiro to sit.

“My parents aren’t home,” Keith said when Shiro sat down.

Shiro’s first instinct was to glance at the clock at the kitchen wall, but he immediately realized the clock was broken: it displayed the time as 11:37, the thin red handle twitching uselessly in the same place as it struggled — and failed — to count seconds.

“When will your family get here?” Shiro asked.

“I don’t have the slightest clue.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a family dinner?”

“We are, but…” Keith shrugged. “Someone broke into my uncle’s bookstore, and he left to assess the damage. As for my mom… she’s on a date, but she said she’d make it back home in time for dinner. Although she might have forgotten to change her timezone, so… who knows.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Unless, of course, you were the guy who smashed my uncle’s storefront.”

“What?” Shiro blinked. “Why would you think that? I don’t even know the name of your uncle’s store, or its address.”

“Relax, it was a joke,” Keith smiled, mirthless and miserable. “It’s fine. We cancel plans all the time. I’m used to that. You work in retail, you develop a resistance — shit happens, you remain unfazed. You have to. There’s always something, a force majeure waiting around the corner… so you learn to foresee the unforeseeable.”

Shiro took a step closer to him.

“Is this why I’m here? As a backup plan?”

“No, I actually wanted you to meet them. Both my mom and uncle Kolivan. The two of you got off on the wrong foot, but it’s salvageable. We can talk, have a conversation… you might actually like each other.”

“Keith, I like  _ you. _ If you want me to get along with your relatives, okay, I’ll try, but — just so we’re clear — I’m here for you.”

This time, Keith smiled genuinely.

“I know,” he said.

_ Odd, _ Shiro thought; now that everything was out in the open between the two of them, he’d expected something to change. It was probably a stretch to imagine — hope — that Keith would make the first step, especially now, with the residue of the other week’s fight still in their systems. Still… Shiro couldn’t help waiting for something to happen.

“There’s not much of a point in waiting for my parents to show up, I guess,” Keith said. “We could start on our own if you want.”

“Don’t lose hope just yet, your mother could return any minute. She wouldn’t like us starting without her, right?”

“Honestly? If she cared, she would have showed up on time.”

“But you said it yourself, she might have forgotten to adjust her clock.”

“Then she won’t be here any time soon,” Keith shrugged. “We could wait until daybreak, and there’s no guarantee either of them remembers.”

Shiro sighed.

“I don’t get it. On one hand, your parents are so controlling you’re willing to risk your life to escape their oversight. On the other hand, apparently, they’re so neglectful they forget you exist. Like… which is it? Isn’t it a paradox?”

“Maybe,” Keith hopped onto the kitchen counter. Leaning forward, his hands glued to the edge, he used his newfound position to look at Shiro form above. “But it’s not a contradiction. First of all, my mom and my uncle are two different people, and second… even within a single person, different personas often coexist. There is no universal mindset — everything you are is contextual, it depends on the circumstances, your surroundings, previous events… you’re not the same person with your family and your colleagues, or customers, or strangers. Obligations bind us. As a relative, as a friend, as a neighbor — you do things out of duty, regardless of your wishes. You have a set of rules, an idea of how things are supposed to be, and you enforce that order… but we’re all human. Nobody is perfectly selfless, everyone wants to live for themselves. Some people send their kids away to boarding schools, others provide a framework of discipline in the form of endless rules and a strict daily regimen. They set you off on a career path, and consider you dealt with. But what else can they do? They give me what they have, and I can’t ask for more. I can’t blame my parents… or anyone… for wanting to get rid of me.”

Keith fell silent.

His stomach churning with unrest, his heart booming in his chest, Shiro came close and put his hands on Keith’s knees.

“Hey. Remember what you promised me?”

“Um,” Keith bit his lip. “Dinner?”

“Never giving up on yourself,” Shiro gripped his thighs tighter, empathizing the point. “You deserve to be loved and cared for. Do you understand? Not out of any obligations, but… just because. You don’t need a justification to love someone, especially when that someone is yourself.”

Keith smiled.

“That’s what I like about you, Shiro. You say what’s on your mind and you don’t cling to false pretenses. Even if, sometimes, I wish you weren’t so brutal about it — I still respect your honesty.”

_ Honesty.  _ Keith considered him  _ honest? _ Preposterous. He had been hiding the truth for so long — that mad, desperate face of a man in the mirror, disfigured and disgraced, willing to do anything to escape the soul-crushing solitude — that Shiro almost believed the lie.

Shiro flinched, taking a step back.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Keith jumped down from his perch. “Did I say something wrong? Shiro… you’re so tense I could bounce a coin off you. What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Shiro frowned. “I don’t know. The last time we spoke… a week ago, but it feels like yesterday. I was a jerk, and you said we both needed a timeout. Now we’re here, and instead of being angry with me or demanding apologies, you say that you like me. And I… there’s so much I need to tell you, and I don’t know how to start.”

“Well… since I’ve already prepared the food, we could start with dinner.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you not?”

“No,” Shiro said bluntly.

A slow smile dawned across the entirety of Keith's face, his eyes lighting up with recognition, with interest.

“I haven’t really lived in this house for years,” Keith said quietly, intimately, as he sized Shiro up and down before locking eyes with him again. “If you ask me to take you to my room… it’s not exactly guest-ready.”

“That’s okay,” Shiro said.

Keith’s grin spread wider.

“Oh, but we really should talk first…”

“Yes,” Shiro nodded. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind, talking can wait,” Keith closed the gap between them in one swift motion, and put his hands on Shiro’s shoulders. “All is forgiven. Okay? If you need to get something off your chest, I promise to listen later, but… right now… what you need to get off your chest is  _ your clothes. _ ”

“What? Wait, I mean… are you sure?”

“Yes! For the love of— do you need me to spell it out? Do I have to, like, submit a resume to be your boyfriend, or get a permit to break the wall around your heart?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Shiro grabbed Keith’s wrists, holding him. “I want… honesty, as you’ve said. I want us, together. I want you.”

“Anything you want…”

Shiro sucked in a breath. Keith was staring at his lips, not even trying to be coy or sneaky anymore; shameless, challenging, he stared at Shiro with darkened eyes.

In a moment of reckless security, Shiro dived into a kiss.

Keith kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck. They kissed, and kissed again, unable to stop; from chaste and uncertain to open-mouthed and messy, they licked into each other, awkward, heavenly. The salt of it, the slight prickly itch of late-night stubble, the insistent heat of Keith’s breath as he moaned inaudibly, the shaky sensation of it echoing across Shiro when he broke the kiss — only to nuzzle along Keith’s jawline until he reached his neck; Keith started moaning aloud, his fingers digging into Shiro’s shoulders.

Following Keith’s subtle pull, Shiro allowed him to guide the two of them to the cleanest kitchen counter. Somewhere along the way, they got rid of Keith’s shirt — Shiro hardly paid any attention to the details, all he could think of was his need to feel Keith directly, skin to skin — and then Shiro pinned Keith down to the surface, circling him with a trail of kisses, lost in the moment.

Suddenly, Keith paused with a sharp intake of breath.

“Shiro, wait… Just now, did you hear something?”

“No?” Shiro looked up at him. “If you want me to stop…”

“No, no way,” Keith tugged on Shiro’s clothes, helping him get out of his jacket. “I wouldn’t stop for the apocalypse knocking at the door.”

Shiro smirked. As he dropped his jacket to the floor, there was a clank; he remembered the knife in his pocket.

“Oh, right, before I forget again… I brought you something,” Shiro lifted the jacket off the floor, and took the knife out. “Here, I believe this is yours. You left it at my place.”

“Ah… I was wondering if I misplaced it,” smiling sheepishly, Keith ruffled the hair on the back of his head. “Wait, you didn’t cut yourself with my knife, did you?”

“Yeah, well. It’s really sharp,” Shiro began unwrapping the blade. “It’s a miracle it didn’t cut through the bandages. The fact that you carry it openly, on a chain around your neck, is beyond reckless. Just so you know, I took its measurements. I’m going to make you a leather sheath, and if I ever see you carrying this thing open-bladed again — I’m going to be very cross.”

“What will you do, stab me?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. Keith grimaced, cowering in mock panic.

“No, good sir, please don’t stab me! Not in the face! I am yet to reveal its beauty to all my subscribers!”

“Maybe I want your beauty all to myself,” Shiro tossed the knife aside. It landed on the counter with a metallic thud, spinning in a crescent arch before slowing down, its tip pointing right between the two of them, like a messed-up game of spin-the-bottle. “Come here…”

He was just about to kiss Keith again when—

_ Smack! _ Something hit the back of his head, and Shiro winced in pain. The hit wasn’t too strong, but enough to blur his vision for a moment.

“You! Get away from him!” a familiar voice growled.

“Uncle Kolivan!” Keith cried out, jumping to his feet. His face flushed with embarrassment. “Calm down, this isn’t — it’s not what it looks like.”

Nursing his sore nape, Shiro turned around slowly.

Indeed, Keith’s uncle stood in the kitchen door, his features set into a deep frown. There was a lighter and a set of keys clutched tightly in his hands, as if he was preparing to throw them next. He glared at Shiro for a long, unpleasant moment before lowering his improvised weaponry.

“Aspirin,” Kolivan nodded. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I don’t think I want to hear the answer.”

“What are  _ you  _ doing here, uncle?” Keith took a step forward, shielding Shiro. “Didn’t you have a break-in at the store?”

Kolivan made a face.

“I’ve spent an hour talking to the police about fire safety, property damage, cars, shades of blue, and a ton of crap I have little patience for. Some crackheads drove their cadillac into my storefront, then set it on fire. I wouldn’t know where to begin the repairs.” He let out a deep, bitter sigh. “I’ve called the insurance company, they’ll send someone in the morning. Right now… all I want is a plate of hot food and a moment of peace and quiet. Where’s Krolia?”

“She left earlier. She said she had a date.”

“Figures,” Kolivan came closer to pick an object from the floor — the very same he’d used to throw at Shiro, apparently — a wallet. What kind of man would throw his wallet at someone he thought was attacking his nephew? What a family. “No matter. We can do this without her. Just put some clothes on, for Christ’s sake, I’ve already seen more than I have ever wanted to… Hey, aspirin — what was your name again?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro said.

Kolivan gave him an once-over, then nodded.

“Alright. No reason we can’t be civilized. Let’s have dinner, shall we?”

“Actually… we were just about to leave,” Keith said as he hastily put on his shirt. “There’s, um, there’s a movie — we’re supposed to be at the theater in, what, half an hour? We’re already late. If we don’t leave right now, we’re going to miss the whole thing.”

Kolivan opened his wallet, took out a twenty dollar bill, and placed it on the counter next to Keith.

“That should compensate for the lost tickets.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Nonsense. You suggested a family dinner, didn’t you? So, let’s have dinner. As a family. I’m eager to know everything about this…” Kolivan regarded Shiro with a cold glare. “…Takashi. He doesn’t happen to be a college professor, does he?”

Shiro frowned.

“I’m a mechanic, thank you very much. And I can speak for myself.”

“Good. I expect you to do a lot of talking, because you have some explaining to do.”

“We don’t have to explain anything!” Keith said. “I invited Shiro in case I needed an excuse to leave early, okay? Now I’ve realized this dinner is a bad idea, and we need to leave. So, excuse us.”

Keith grabbed Shiro by the wrist, pulling him towards the exit.

“Not so fast,” Kolivan blocked their passage. “We need to discuss your future, Keith.”

“Seriously? Now?” Keith’s grip on Shiro’s wrist tightened to the point of hurting. Shiro kept quiet. “We discussed my decision a million times already.”

“Yet you still haven’t found a suitable occupation. Your so-called job, and that hole-in-the-wall you call an apartment, the… company you keep… a mechanic! Who’s next, a janitor?”

“What’s wrong with janitors?”

“Are you joking with me, boy? Keith — you have to start making better choices. I can’t keep supporting you forever.”

“I don’t need your support! I can manage just fine on my own. You keep inserting yourself in my life when nobody asks you to!”

“Oh, I’ve seen how you’re managing,” Kolivan shot another dirty glance in Shiro’s direction, then frowned at Keith again. “You’d rather rely on the mercy of virtual strangers than take a proper job with a steady income. Because, what, it’s boring? And what happens when your internet friends prove unreliable, what will you do? Keep risking your livelihood, your life, like an adrenaline junkie? Do you want to end up like your father?”

“Don’t call my dad an adrenaline junkie. He was a better man you could ever hope to be.”

“Of course. Your father was a hero! He carried little kids out of a burning building! Nevermind that he abandoned his own little kid — an ungrateful brat that I have to keep rescuing time and time again. For years, I have been taking care of you, and yet you idolize someone who’s traded you for a blaze of glory.”

“Don’t… don’t you dare say that about my dad.”

“I have every right to say it, and worse. I knew him better than you ever could, I knew exactly what kind of man he was. And I can see you turning into him — an airhead, perfectly happy to turn his life into a dumpster fire!”

“At least I have a life! You waste your life hiding from the world in your goddamn bookstore. Well, guess what? I’m glad it’s burned down!”

Everything was very still and silent for a split second. Kolivan paled, clenching his fists; Keith made no move to back down.

With a dawning horror, Shiro realized he needed to defuse the situation, and fast.

“Hey, let’s all take a deep breath and calm down,” he raised his hands, making slow, deliberate movements. “Inhale, exhale. Okay? It’s okay. We can sit down and talk things through.”

Scoffing, Keith crossed his arms.

“This dinner  _ was  _ a bad idea.” Kolivan shook his head. “Go on. Leave. Run away from the problem, like you always do.”

“You’re the one creating problems out of thin air!”

“Enough,” Shiro said, as authoritative as he could manage. “The only problem here is that you two keep blaming each other for someone else’s faults. Do you even hear yourselves? Mr. Kolivan, sir… you have to stop blaming your nephew for his father’s mistakes.”

“Of course you’re taking his side, aspirin.” Kolivan rolled his eyes.

“I’m not taking any sides! You two are impossible.” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. “Keith, you’re also in the wrong. You have to stop antagonizing your uncle for not giving you something you’ve never had the knowledge to ask.”

“Shiro…” Keith narrowed his eyes. “Don’t use my own words against me. Please.”

“Then don’t use me as a tool to spite your family. You know, I actually believed you wanted me here because you were willing to give me another chance…”

“I am!”

“Then don’t treat relationships like a gameplay mechanic. Not every interaction can be retried, or offset by another one. It matters, what you say to people, what you do — in real life, most things are final. So… don’t be a dick to someone who loves you.”

Keith opened his mouth as if to say something, blinked, and said nothing.

The broken clock on the wall struggled to count another second, unable to overcome its programming. Again, and again, and again, the handle twitched and faltered.

“Aspirin,” Kolivan cleared his throat. “I think you should leave.”

“I think you two need to have a serious conversation about boundaries,” Shiro retorted. “The same goes to you, by the way, about dropping the attitude.”

“We’ll figure it out, thank you,” Kolivan said in a dry voice, a hint of a sardonic smile in the corner of his mouth. Then he took a step aside and gestured at the door. “You have fulfilled your mission. Now, begone. My nephew and I need to talk tête-à-tête.”

Keith looked away when Shiro tried to catch his eyes.

“Fine,” Shiro said. “Keith… You know where to find me when you have something to say.”

Keith didn’t stop him when Shiro turned to leave.

So he left.


	9. The Wall Ends With You

####  ***

Sunday morning, cold and gray, started with drizzling rain.

Shiro woke up and, instead of getting up, stayed in bed. He stared at the ceiling; there were no dots or cracks to count, nothing but plain white surface, as boring as every other surface in his apartment.

He used to like solid colors, clean and clear-cut, but now… he would have been grateful for a speck of color. Hell, he would have been grateful for a mouldy stain.

He couldn’t even busy himself with cleaning, since he had finished the whole routine yesterday.

There were probably crafting orders waiting to be reviewed, but Shiro couldn’t be bothered. The very idea of talking to some cosplay enthusiast made his skin crawl.

Matt texted him.

“They found my car! Crashed and burned along with some bookstore. Fucked up or what? I told you Nyma’s not a killer, she’s just having fun.”

Shiro didn’t bother to respond.

For about ten minutes, fiddling with his phone, he considered calling Keith and apologizing for last night. It would have been the right thing to do. But…

The whole other day felt like a bad dream. The cleaning and the knife, the flood of repressed memories forcing their way back into his mind after the mirror episode, and then — the visit.  _ The kiss. _ If Keith’s uncle had not returned early, how far would have they taken things? Two glasses of rosé Shiro had had earlier didn’t count — he hadn’t been nearly drunk enough to justify that sort of behavior. Going down on a guy in his parents’ kitchen — or, well, trying to — what was he thinking? It was reckless and irresponsible.

Not to mention the whole “love” thing. The way Shiro left it hanging in the air… the way he left Keith alone with that man… was it a mistake? What if Keith thought Shiro spoke of himself, what if Keith thought it was a declaration, a confession? What if… it was?

It was crazy. All of it, just… crazy.

Worst of all, Shiro wanted to do it again — the kissing part, not the following quarrel — and it wasn’t just a physical desire. Making out was nice, sure, but what Shiro truly longed for was that look Keith had given him, that willingness in his eyes, that… acceptance.

To be understood. No longer alone, no longer trapped in his own world, isolated.

Shiro wanted that. More than anything, he wanted Keith.

At the same time, he knew he couldn’t — shouldn’t — make the first step towards reconciliation. It had to be Keith, because this time — it was Keith who remained indecisive.

For all his forwardness, Keith admitted defeat too easily, not even trying to stop Shiro when his uncle asked him to leave. Whether it was due to Keith’s self-esteem issues or his wish to resolve the family drama, or he didn’t like Shiro as much as he claimed after all, or there was something else at play entirely — Shiro had no way of knowing.

What Shiro did know was that he wanted Keith to make a stand, to know that Keith was making a choice they both could live with, that both of them wanted this equally.

So, after all… he still needed clarity.

####  ***

As tempting as spending the whole day in bed was, Shiro couldn’t really do that.

Since it was too cold to jog outside, he dug out his old fitness club membership card. He had bought the thing back in March, when he was just starting to exercise regularly, but in summertime he deemed a nice run through the park to be more enjoyable than being stuck in a room with a bunch of sweaty strangers; then, of course, came September and Keith happened, and they started running together — naturally, Shiro did his best to prolong that experience.

Fortunately, the card had an expiration period of twelve months.

Come to think of it, he had everything he needed to go back to his old life… except for the desire.

Remembering the text from Matt, Shiro dialed him up.

“Hey, man!” Matt sounded oddly cheerful. “Guess who’s back in the saddle?”

“Not sure I should, but I’ll bite,” Shiro sighed. “What happened?”

“They found my car, and it’s only slightly damaged. You know those old cars — they were death traps, but they were built to last. We’ll have to fix a few dents, replace a few parts, and do the paint job all over again, but it’s better than starting from scratch. I bet I can start rebuilding soon.”

“What about the people who stole it? That Nyma with her brother?”

“Cousin, actually. They got away. She emailed me they were skipping town, so…”

“She contacted you? Did you show the email to the police?”

“No, of course not. I don’t want them to get caught. They’re not bad people, just… unlucky. Nyma is really sorry about the car, but they needed the money to start a new life. In, like, Alabama, or somewhere. You know.”

“Oh.” Shiro frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

Matt was quiet for a moment.

“I mean… no. Not really,” he finally said when Shiro called his name to make sure he didn’t lose the call. “I just think it’s not worth it to ruin a girl’s life over something I don’t understand. It’s not my decision to make, man, that shit — they gotta figure it out on their own.”

“So what, you forgive her?” Shiro asked. “Matt, she used you. She stole your car to rob a bookstore. Think of all the hard work you put into that thing — she ruined months of effort. How can you just forgive all that?”

Matt chuckled sadly.

“Of course I can. What are we, animals? Compassion is what makes us human, Takashi Shirogane. Maybe it’s time for you to learn that. And you can call me an idiot all you want, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Because you’re in love with her? That…” Shiro swallowed the world ‘criminal’. “…girl you met three months ago? You barely know her.”

“Sometimes you don’t need to know someone for years to figure out the right thing to do.”

“Yeah. Call the cops.”

“Shiro,” Matt sighed. “Let it go, okay?”

With a sigh of his own, Shiro shook his head.

“Fine. I’ll never understand you, but… fine. I’m done trying to put some sense into you, airhead. Do what you will. From now on, Shiro the Hero appears only when a rescue is requested.”

“Shiro the Hero? Your ronin persona? Don’t tell me you’re doing that old gimmick again.”

“It was ryo-nin, and no. Never again,” Shiro shuddered. “To be honest, I think I’ve had enough of internet videos, as a concept, for my entire life.”

“Really? I thought your new boyfriend was a video maker.”

“He’s not my—” Shiro bit his lip. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?”

“We were never a paradise. Keith and I… we share so many things and we’re so much alike, it scares me. If I have so many doubts, how can he be certain? None of it makes sense. I don’t know where we stand anymore.”

“Sounds like you could use a drink and a friendly ear. How about we get a bottle of jack and go to the old place? I bet they still haven’t fixed that fence.”

The old place. The abandoned construction lot, closed off from the world by a shabby linked fence, full of crumbling cement blocks, waste, and trash — including the human variety. Shiro and Matt used to sneak in there when they were in high school… until, one day, they found a dead body — a man who, judging by the noose around his neck, commited suicide. Then again, they never found out if anybody helped that man along the way.

“I’d rather not. Actually, I was going to go to the gym… gotta keep in shape.”

“Aw, come on. For old times’ sake.”

Shiro hesitated. He really could use a friendly ear to discuss his doubts, and Matt undoubtedly had his own stuff to share.

“Okay, fine. Come over, and we’ll have a drink here at my place. Just… no abandoned construction sites. The old one still gives me the creeps.”

“Right, I forgot you found a homeless guy there. Sorry,” Matt chuckled nervously. “I’ll bring the whiskey, then.”

They agreed upon the time, and the call ended.

####  ***

In hindsight, of course, it was a bad decision.

The whiskey was bad; no amounts of apple juice could mask the bitter taste of alcohol and misery. None of it was helping — they weren’t doing anything productive, they were getting drunk.

Two miserable lonely men day-drinking in the kitchen.

“This is bad, what we’re doing,” Shiro said. It was only his second glass, and his head was already starting to spin; the buzzing warmth in his limbs felt both pleasant and unpleasant, relaxing — in a heavy, helpless way. “I’ve been skipping a lot of exercise because of the weather. If I cut down any more, I might start hurting again.”

“That’s what the whiskey’s for,” Matt slurred and clinked a fingernail against the rim of his glass. It resonated, echoing. “Alcohol numbs the pain of living.”

“I’m not going down that road.”

“Right. You’re so high and mighty. Shiro the Hero, always doing the right thing.”

“If you only knew…”

Matt laughed. His hair, golden brown like the liquid in his glass, glistened with sweat.

The clock on the stove displayed the time as half an hour past four in the afternoon.

“So… do you want to talk about what happened?” Shiro asked. “Why do you like that girl so much? It can’t be that superficial crap you told me about before. Nobody’s good-looking enough to cover for their crimes.”

Matt shrugged.

“I don’t know, man. The heart wants what it wants.”

“The heart?”

“Yeah. I don’t always think with my cock, thank you very much. There’s just something about Nyma… she’s pretty and nimble, yeah, but she’s also very… sad. She’s like a flower. A lily of the valley. You know how hard those are to grow? My mom has been trying for years, but it’s just too damn cold, or the sun is too bright, or the soil isn’t right. There’s always something. With Nyma… I feel the same.”

“Like you keep trying and trying, but you keep hitting a wall?”

“Maybe… no, not quite. She’s more like a wounded bird, or a car. Like, they bring them to the workshop for us to fix, right? We fix them, and then we let them go. No matter how much work and effort and love we put into them, we have to let them go.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Matt took a sip of his drink. “People ain’t fucking cars. A car, you can buy. A woman, she makes her own choices. Nyma… she didn’t choose me.”

Shiro frowned. His friend’s words resonated with his own earlier thoughts, but it didn’t make Shiro any more content with the situation. In fact, talking to Matt about relationships made him feel even more miserable.

He checked his phone. Nothing from Keith.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Matt asked.

“I do, actually,” Shiro hated the smell of cigarettes. “If you want to smoke, climb the stairs to the roof. I want none of that stuff in my house.”

“Sheesh, you’re as uptight as ever. Will you at least keep me company, or do you banish me to freeze up there on my own?”

Shiro sighed.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

####    
  


####  ***

The weather up on the roof was atrocious. The sky was overcast with clouds shedding drizzle that started to feel more like snow than raindrops; an icy fitful wind was sweeping through the air.

“This is, officially, hell,” Matt declared. However, he walked over to the very edge of the roof. “Might as well enjoy the view since we’re here.”

“Careful,” Shiro followed his friend. “You don’t want to slip and fall. It’s a long way down.”

“Perhaps, a long way down is exactly what I want.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah. I don’t. It’s nice that you care, though.” Matt reached into his coat for a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and tried to light it up. The lighter clicked uselessly, providing not a single spark of fire; Matt shook it furiously. “Come on!”

“Let me try.”

Shiro took the lighter. Shielding the flame from the weather with his hand, he helped Matt light a cigarette. It took them a few tries, but they managed.

“Thanks, man,” Matt said as he put the lighter back into his pocket, and breathed out a trail of smoke. Shiro winced, taking a step back. Matt chuckled. “Sorry about that. Gotta get that sweet nicotine hit.”

Deciding not to follow the social protocol of reassuring the smoker it’s all good and tolerable — because it wasn’t, the rain made the smell of smoke all the more pervasive and revolting — Shiro simply shrugged.

Matt chuckled again at the telling lack of response.

“Anyway… what’s up with you? We’ve been talking for an hour, and I’ve poured my heart out, yet you haven’t said a word about your sugar plum — what’s his name, Keith?”

“I have,” Shiro said.

“What?”

“I have been talking about Keith.”

“Huh. You mean that wall stuff?”

“I mean everything.” Shiro tilted his head back to look at the sky. It was muddy cyan and dim, with a million strings of rain sticking out of it like needles from a needle pad. Drops of water hit Shiro in the face, and he closed his eyes, letting it happen. “I keep thinking about him all the time. It’s insane. It’s like I’ve never been in love before. Suddenly, he’s everywhere, and I don’t know what to do. I want it to be good so badly I keep messing up. The other day, in his mother’s house… no, it’s not even that. I don’t know how to explain it… it’s like I’m stuck in a safety suit, doomed to perceive the world through protective barriers that won’t let me get close — even when I want to. He’s so magnetic it’s radioactive, and if I hold him… if I dare… I don’t know what might happen.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

It was a simple question, but Shiro’s eyes snapped open. The thought of Keith… moving on, moving away, forever…

“I can’t let that happen,” Shiro said, his voice husky, alien, foreign to himself. “I can’t let him go. He needs me. I need him.”

“Well, that sounds mildly disturbing and obsessive, but at least you have your answer.”

Shiro shook his head. The glistening cityscape, painted with rain and patches of electric lights — blurry splashes of street lamps, lemony yellow patches of windows and storefronts, shades of blue and purple spilled in the shimmering puddles on the sidewalks — everything swayed with his vision, a vertigo of cold neon colors and life-stealing toxic water of the acid rain.

“We should go back inside,” Shiro said.

“Actually, I think I’ve had enough,” Matt said. “Drinking, I mean. Tomorrow’s a Monday, which means — back to the workshop… You’re so lucky you’re not a part of a family business. The pressure to keep the thing afloat is fucking immense.”

“Yeah, well. My ancestors didn’t have much of a chance to establish a dynasty, what’s with getting locked up in a camp for having the wrong eyelid shape and such.”

Matt blinked, taken aback. The cigarette stuck to his lower lip when he opened his mouth, agape, at a loss of words.

“Uh…”

“Sorry,” Shiro frowned, rubbing his forehead. “I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I’ve had one drink too many.”

“Um, right…” Matt let out a small nervous laugh. “You do have a point. Here I am, bitching and moaning about my folks handing me a source of livelihood on a silver platter, when you have to carve one out for yourself. It’s not fair, how these things work.”

“What’s ever fair on this tramp of a planet?”

“Maidens,” Matt grinned. He took the last drag of his cigarette, then dropped the filter and crushed it under his heel. “Come to the workshop tomorrow. Help me choose the new color for the cadillac — I’m tired of all the blue.”

Shiro smirked.

“Okay.”

####  ***

As soon as Shiro was left alone, he cleaned out the debauchery leftovers — half a bottle of whiskey that would later make a fine glaze for so many steaks, or maybe serve as a fuel for another self-pity party — and, buzzed and sleepy, staggered to the living room.

He dozed off quickly when his body hit the couch.

He dreamed of nothing. Alone in the cluttered room, Shiro sat with his head tilted back, leaning into the firm softness of the sticky leather, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind half hazy, half absent. He breathed, swallowing gulps of the viscid air through his mouth, his head spinning.

Outside, it was a gloomy day, and the gray shadows crawled across the room, softening the edges, decolorizing everything, the world reminiscent of a faded out memory… like in that game Keith liked to play, what was it called… the one with the spider you had to dismember…

Shiro couldn’t recall.

Finally, he awoke at sunset. Blinking blearily at the shimmering light that left rose gold splotches at the walls as it was streaming through the windows, Shiro looked around.

He was alone.

The sound of silence was deafening.

An aching head and a sour taste in his mouth compelled Shiro to abandon the living room riddled with the dying light. He got up and went to the bathroom.

He turned on the tap and leaned at the sink, splashing water into his face.  _ Cold! _ Cold water hit him, and he hissed, wincing; a wake-up call, perhaps, second only to an old meme song or a string of impassioned curses mixed with simulated gunfire.

Swallowing a sigh along with a handful of water, Shiro let his hand linger covering his mouth, messy, drops of water spilling in between his fingers, sneaking their way down his neck.

It had been so long since he had the chance to spend some quality time with Keith. Yesterday… it was a disaster, as nice as it had been to see him — to  _ kiss  _ him, holy  _ shit  _ — in the end, the final falling out was the only residue that remained. Discontent. Disgruntlement. Dissatisfaction.

A whole lot of dis-feelings, really.

How could that be love?

But it was. It had to be. He wanted it to be. It was — not enough, but enough to try making it enough. Wasn’t it?

Splashing water in his face wasn’t going to wash off the icky feeling of sleeping fully clothed, Shiro realized, so he turned off the sink tap, and got into the shower.

He alternated the water temperature, mixing up ice-cold with skin-reddening hot, to shake of the last ounce of sleep, and he ordered himself to keep his mind blank, clear of the incessant anxious thoughts.

When Shiro got out of the shower, he was ready.

_ “Remember our running track? Meet me at the park entrance at 8 PM.” _

To try again, even if it meant failing again.

####  ***

Oddly — delightfully — enough, Keith responded to his summons.

The night was chilly, dark navy-blue, patterned with the luminous glimmer of street lights. The brick and iron fence confined the tree mass whose spidery leafless branches, abysmal black, stark against the murky clouded sky, were waving in the wind like a concert crowd cheering for their favorite singer with their hands up high in the air.

Keith waited right by the arch signifying the park entrance. He had a red leather jacket on and a pair of fingerless gloves; as he waited for Shiro to approach, he rubbed his hands together trying to warm them up with his breath.

“Hey,” Shiro said as he walked up to Keith.

“Hey,” Keith responded, a white puff of air visible in the cold. “What gives? The way you stormed off yesterday, I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have left, but… seeing the two of you fight… I was already on edge, and with your uncle all but pushing me through the door… I guess I just panicked.”

“I’m sorry too,” Keith stopped puffing warmth into his hands and lowered them down. “I should have said something. Besides, it wasn’t fair to put you under crossfire.”

“You couldn’t predict your uncle’s actions.”

“No, I figured he’d get pissed if I told him I was going to quit my retail job to focus on the videos. I knew that dinner was going to turn sour, and I wanted you there as a failsafe.”

“Wait, you’re going to do what?”

“Quit my job at the game store,” Keith repeated.

Shiro frowned. “Why?”

“Why not? One less reason to be tied down to a place. It’ll be tough, but I’m done half-assing things. I’ve chosen my path, and I’m going to walk it.”

Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Shiro looked Keith in the eyes.

“Does it mean you’re moving out?” he asked.

“Do you want me to move out?” Keith shot back.

The wind howled among the tree branches. Shiro shivered.

“More than anything, I want you to stay,” he said. “But it shouldn’t be up to me. The question is, do you want to be there? Do you want to stay… with me?”

Keith studied him for a moment, then cracked a smile.

“Of course I do. Running away is not my style. I think… giving up on someone you love is also giving up on a version of yourself, someone capable of that love. It can be a good thing, a way to protect yourself from getting hurt, but… give up too soon, and you’ll never see anything through. To me… what love is… it’s a choice to never give up, to be patient, even when all hope seems lost. It’s a  _ commitment _ .”

Shiro blinked.

“Love? That’s — I don’t know. We barely know each other.”

“Call it what you like.” Keith shrugged. “Sure, it’s too soon to be certain, but… falling in love… to me, it’s a leap of faith, and I want to take it. I want to fall in love with you — if you let me. Because I really like you — except for your habit of running away.”

“It is a habit at this point,” Shiro nodded. “A bad one.”

Keith reached out and took Shiro’s hands; his fingers were ice-cold, and Shiro shivered again.

“How about breaking the habit? Tonight?”

“That sounds familiar,” Shiro smiled.

“You’re not the only one who can quote early 2000s songs.”

They shared a laugh, then, without thinking — to hell with thinking — Shiro leaned in and kissed Keith on the lips. The air, cold and merciless, immediately sneaked into his open mouth.

“God,” Shiro breathed out. “It was a bad idea to meet outside.”

“I’m frozen to the bone,” Keith admitted. “Can we go home already?”

Shiro grinned.

“I have a better idea. Run! The last one to reach the building makes breakfast tomorrow.”

####  ***

They reached their building out of breath, both exhausted and energized. Neither had won — it was a tie — but the racing victory was the last thing on Shiro’s mind right now.

Finally, several flights of stairs later, they were in their shared hallway.

“You’re coming in, right?” Shiro asked, fiddling with the lock on his door.

Keith leaned against the wall next to him.

“If you invite me…”

Gesturing at the now open door of his apartment, Shiro did a small histrionic bow.

“Please, good sir, do come in.”

Keith laughed and crossed the threshold.

Shiro followed him in, and locked the door.

They were all over each other in less than a second. Keith hugged him from behind, sneaky hands unzipping Shiro’s jacket for him; as payback, the moment Keith was done, Shiro grabbed his hands and helped him out of his gloves. Then Shiro turned around, and Keith kissed him.

Undressing each other slowly, clumsily, exchanging kisses and laughing, they moved to the bedroom. Shiro finally remembered to kick off his boots; Keith followed his example.

“Are we really doing this?” Shiro asked, breathless.

“If you have more objections, please say so,” Keith said and reached for Shiro’s belt.

Shiro whimpered.

“I don’t have any condoms or anything. It’s been a while, so—”

“Oh my god,” Keith rolled his eyes. “I'll trust you if you trust me, okay?”

He kissed Shiro again, almost too forceful, pushing him to the nearest wall, biting his lower lip, undoing his belt buckle; Shiro trembled, his knees suddenly weak. He didn’t know what to do with his hands — trying to touch Keith right now felt like reaching for a high-voltage wire: magnetic, suicidal.

Inevitably tempting.

Keith was soft and hard in a manner only another human being could be, his lips and his hands and the warmth of him, his thigh pressed tightly between Shiro’s.  _ Oh, _ Shiro was  _ starved _ for this, the indescribable sensation, both comfort and excitement intertwined… not alone, desirable, wanted…

Nuzzling at his neck, Keith unzipped Shiro's pants. Shiro had to fight down a moan when Keith's hand brushed against the achingly palpable erection in his underwear; he could feel everything even through the fabric. When the tentative caress turned into full-palm groping, Shiro bit down on the back of his own hand, unable to hold another shaky desperate moan.

“Do you like that?” Keith murmured with a hint of smugness.

“You're very… assertive, I'll give you that,” Shiro whispered, his voice too hoarse to speak. “Should we, maybe, talk?”

Keith pressed his groin against Shiro’s thigh.

“Later.”

“No, I mean… about what we’re going to do, and…” it was hard to think with Keith grinding against him, but Shiro believed in rules and wasn’t about to back down. “Like, uh. Safewords? I want to know you’ll stop if I ask you to stop.”

Keith paused. He put his hands on the wall, pulling away slightly, just enough to look Shiro in the eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, quiet and serious.

Shiro shook his head. “No.”

“Do you want me to keep touching you while you ask me to stop?”

“What? Uh, no. I’m not into that.”

“What are you into?” Keith raised an eyebrow. “Talking people to death?”

Shiro laughed, but his laughter was cut short because of a clumsy movement: he threw his head back, and the back of his head hit the wall.

“Ow,” he winced. “Can we at least move to somewhere more comfortable? Like, the bed?”

“Mmm…” the glint in Keith's eyes was positively devious. He leaned in to whisper in Shiro’s ear, sending shivers down his spine, “I think I like it right here.”

Then, instead of wasting time on pulling down Shiro’s pants properly, he promptly shoved his hand in his underwear and gripped his cock.

Shiro said  _ fuck _ out loud, and squeezed his eyes shut.

A dry handjob could hardly count as an experience of a lifetime, but at the moment Shiro hardly cared. The awkward angle, the uneven pacing, it all melted away; there was only Keith, his needy worked-up breathing, the burn of his hand right where Shiro wanted it… just a little harder, a little faster, a little more.

Or, like, a lot more, preferably forever.

Because… it was the best. Keith was the best, and once again Shiro had to stifle a moan with his own hand.

“Don’t,” Keith grabbed his wrist, forcing Shiro’s hand away from his mouth and pinning it to the wall. “I want to hear you. I want to know you like it.”

Shiro would have loved to inform Keith that, indeed, he found his manipulations delightfully — euphorically — pleasant, but he was too busy drowning in the very pleasure — transfixed, enraptured, spellbound — to say anything comprehensible.

He propped his head on Keith’s shoulder instead, lips to skin, feeling the pulse in his neck beating fast, insistent, alive.

It was too much, and not nearly enough. The movement, the hot and cold contrast being stuck between Keith and the wall, the cool draft from the nearby window, the cooling sweat perspiring on their skin from the exertion, the salty taste of it on Shiro’s tongue when he kissed Keith’s neck, Keith’s grip tightening on him in response; the unzipping of a fly when Shiro finally remembered he had one hand free and decided to make use of it, yanking Keith’s pants open to stroke him too.

Unlike Shiro, Keith wasn’t shy with his moans.

They started making out again, and finally Keith gripped them together with both hands, rubbing against each other; Shiro clung to him helplessly, clutching his shoulders in a shaky grasp.

It was good; it was perfect.

_ Crack! _

Suddenly, there was a sound. A snap and a dull, slappy hit. Something — a physical object — crashed and fell somewhere. Judging from the sound of it — inside Keith’s apartment.

Both Shiro and Keith froze mid-motion.

“What was that?” Shiro asked.

Keith looked him in the eyes, slightly dazed. He must have caught on to the sound just as well, but it wasn’t as easy for him to snap out of their lust-driven exercise; panting, he frowned as the realization dawned on him.

“That… something fell.”

“Yeah,” Shiro cupped Keith’s face. “Inside your apartment. Should we check it out?”

Keith blinked. He was clearly torn between worrying about his precious computer — possibly the only possession Keith truly cared about — and wanting to continue what they started, ignoring any and all possible disruptions.

With a fond sigh, Shiro shook his head.

“Go. I know it’s important to you.”

“I…” Keith licked his lips, then looked down at their tips touching, circling Shiro’s with his thumb almost absentmindedly. Shiro trembled. “I can’t — I can’t choose.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

The time for indecision was past, Shiro decided. He pushed Keith away just enough to take control; he wrapped Keith in his arms and helped him turn around, if only a little rough — Keith landed into the wall face-first, although Keith didn’t seem to mind — he arched his back, tugging his already loose pants down, exposing himself fully.

Shiro sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted Keith so badly his vision was getting hazy.

“Okay, so you’re not going anywhere,” he murmured and snuggled up to Keith from behind.

“Uh—!” Keith said, although it wasn’t clear if it was a protest or an encouragement.

“Look,” Shiro gently nibbled on Keith’s earlobe as he got a comfortable grip on his cock, going for the good ol’ wrap-around, simple and effective. His own cock throbbed with excitement, squeezed snugly in between Keith’s thighs, but Shiro made an effort to pay attention to Keith first. “Let’s focus on finishing quickly before the underworld swallows the building whole, shall we?”

Keith panted.

“But Red—”

“It’s either too late, or it’ll be fine,” Shiro promised. “In any case, your computer can wait a few minutes.”

Keith slammed his hands into the wall.

“Damn it! Can’t anything ever go right— ah, o… okay, yeah… it — it can wait.”

As expected, thankfully, Keith lost the fighting vigor quickly as Shiro started moving.

Needless to say, things got sticky fast.

####  ***

It was the acoustic panels’ fault.

Two of the panels fell off, partially bringing the star-painted canvas along with them. There was a crack in the wall, thin and shallow, serpentine.

Keith approached the wall and traced the crack with his index finger.

“That explains why we heard anything at all…”

Shiro knelt, examining the fallen panels.

“Looks like we didn’t put enough glue on this one,” he said. “Well, at least it didn’t hit anything.”

“It ruined your painting.”

Glancing up at the canvas, Shiro shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. The UV lights are still there, and we can glue the panels back on. This time, I’ll nail them properly.”

“Just the panels?”

“No, the canvas, too.”

Keith laughed for some reason.

“The housework can wait, Mr. Handyman. There’s something more urgent to take care of.”

“More urgent than the crumbling wall between us?” Shiro chuckled. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s up?”

Keith took a deep sigh.

“Well, there is something we have to discuss. See, there are… rules… to relationships. I don’t want to fall in the same trap as the last time, so… I think we should speak as adults. We haven’t known each other that long, so it might seem sudden, but — do you think we’re ready to make a commitment? To, um… to be exclusive. Because, well… I don’t want you to see any other guys. Not that I’m trying to pressure you into a commitment you’re not ready for, it’s just… I just want to tell you how I feel. I hope you understand.”

There was something awfully familiar about that whole speech.

“Keith,” Shiro squinted. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend… using  _ ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ _ as a transcript?”

Keith blushed but didn’t look away.

“Is it working?” he asked.

Throwing his head back, Shiro laughed.

“Is that a yes, or a no?” Keith asked, unperturbed except for the intensifying blush.

“Yes,” Shiro choked out through laughter and tears. “Just promise me one thing: this relationship won’t be  _ entirely  _ based on songs and memes.”

“I can’t promise you that. We’ll have to work together to make it meaningful.”

The usual serious expression on Keith’s face, mixed with traces of his fading embarrassment, was a killer combination. He was so beautiful, delicate and strong. Shiro couldn’t believe there was a moment in time when he wasn’t enamoured with that adorable grumpy face; he paused to thoroughly look Keith up and down, enjoying the view, then smiled.

“Come here,” Shiro beckoned Keith closer. Following the request, Keith approached and sat down on the floor next to him. Shiro put his arm over Keith’s shoulders. “I don’t want to walk on eggshells and look for hidden meaning in every interaction. Okay? No more guessing games, no more setups. When you need me, I want you to tell me right away what’s on your mind instead of sending me on a quest to discover all your past secrets through a series of quizzes and puzzles.”

“Do you want me to tell you what’s on my mind right now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Keith smirked.

“Well, if you must know, I was just thinking that — unlike some people — I happen to have a pack of condoms in the bathroom. Amongst other things.”

“Well, thank you for the information. Is that all?”

“Shiro… Do I have to spell it out?”

“Please. I want a written invitation. With little red hearts and big red hard-ons, and lots of exclamation marks.”

Keith laughed, pushing Shiro’s arm off, and in the resulting scramble they tumbled down to the floor. Shiro landed on top of Keith and immediately used the advantage to plant a smooch on the tip of Keith’s nose.

“I really like you,” Shiro whispered.

“Thanks,” Keith smiled. “Sometimes I like myself, too.”

“Sometimes? You should indulge yourself more often.”

“Hmm… make me.”

Shiro kissed him, and Keith wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing him back.

 

 

Fixing the panels and the galaxy canvas had to wait for the next day.


End file.
